My Father, The Fop
by Pleading Eyes
Summary: Erik returns to Christine, reborn as her son. But nothing is as it seems. A parody of those annoying soap operas!
1. Pilot Episode

**Inspiration:** I was at my "twin's" house the other day. Her mom or sister or someone was watching one of those melodramatic Spanish soap operas on TV. Somehow the topic of how much the writers get paid for these "telenovela" scripts came up.

So I figured, I could do that! All you have to do is come up with a cast of conflicted characters with strange little quirks and put them through every single semi-believable dramatic crisis you can think of—at the same time!

Since I am a HUGE Phantom phan, this idea came to me after I heard one of the characters on TV call someone a "Fop." Why not write a Phantom Soap Opera?

Here it is, for your enjoyment (or not. If you don't like please tell me why so I can improve it for you)!

**Disclaimer:** You know the drill! All the characters you know are from Phantom are obviously not mine and I have no claims on them. But any you don't know probably are mine, as are the ridiculous situations the characters are placed in; which spring from the dangerous combination of creativity and boredom.

**Clarification:** Characters based on the 2004 movie because I adore Gerry's interpretation. Except the deformity because I think it could've been so much better. And the swordfight because, seriously, Erik losing to Raoul? A fop? A FOP? Just trim his hair! It's the source of his power!

**Mi padre, el Fop  
**(My Father, The Fop)

**Prologue-The Pilot Episode**

When did I, Christine Daae, become Christine de Chagny? Was it when I married Raoul? When we spoke our vows? Was it the kiss that sealed the deal? Or perhaps not yet, until that night, when we consummated our love for one another.

Or maybe it was the first time I kissed him, really kissed him… The first time my eyes met his and I knew the love in his eyes was reflecting what was in my own…

I think, I think it was when…I think—when he sang to me! Atop the roof that night, he sang to me of his love. Yes, that was when I was his. At that moment, forever, I belonged to no-one else.

At least in body…

For I had been sung to before! My soul belonged to another. My angel. My precious angel. I loved him…

…but as a mentor, a tutor, an angel! For crying out loud, he was like a surrogate father! How could he have ever expected me to love him as a woman loves a man?

When he had sung those heartbroken words "Christine, I love you," my heart had shattered…

…my mind, on the other hand, had been terribly confused. Why was everyone singing everything lately? Whenever something happened, everyone burst into song. Even myself! How did I know the words? I don't know. I just did. And where in the world did all that music _come_ from? Never before the Opera Ghost incident had anyone randomly burst into song like that, and it has never happened since. I suppose somewhere out there, there must be some British man to blame. That's what Raoul always says. "Blame the British." But I thank them, because if they were responsible then I can never repay them for the beautiful—albeit perplexing—music.

Oh my angel, and I never even knew his name until it was too late! I remember the exact day I discovered it. Raoul rushed in that late afternoon, his gigantic smile reflecting the sunlight and blinding me momentarily. Without a word he tossed his papers on the table and rushed to my side, scooping me up in an embrace.

"Christine!" he said, ecstatic and twirling me around to show it. "We're rich! We're rich!" He put me down and I sighed, patting his head.

"Raoul, did you fall and hurt yourself again? You're speaking nonsense, love. We're _already_ rich." I said good-naturedly., casually checking his forehead for bumps or a temperature.

He laughed and shook his head energetically. "No, dearest! We're rich_er._" He took my hand and rushed me down the stairs in a blur. Before I could even ask him to explain, he was holding a newspaper before my eyes. "Look!" He shouted, pointing erratically. "One of my investments finally pulled through!" He sat down on the chaise with a chuckle. "And they said men's hair products would never fly. Fools!" I shook my head and sat beside him, letting my head rest on his broad chest and looking up at him fondly. Despite, or perhaps because of, his childishness I loved him. I really could not think of my life beside any other man.

After he had relaxed, Raoul began flipping through the newspaper. He said he was looking for news of international affairs, but I caught him steal several a glace and the gossip section. I said nothing. Why ruin his illusions? As long as he thought that I thought he was an intellectual, we were happy.

Then my eyes fell upon those terrible words. An obituary notice read: Erik is dead. At first I thought nothing of it; I didn't know anyone named Erik. But printed under it, in the smallest and probably cheapest font I've ever seen, were the words: As is the music of the night. I felt like a blow had been dealt to my underbelly. I stood, willing the tears away. Raoul should not—could not see me like this! Frantically I fought for breath, using my trained diaphragm to draw in and push out as much air as possible. Still it was nowhere near enough, and I felt the room spinning. As my vision blurred, I was vaguely aware of a sound…like a little bird chirping in my ear. Little bird, little bird, sing with me. Then the chirping grew frantic, and I regained enough sense to realize it was Raoul; calling my name desperately. Why, I was in his arms, on the floor! When had I lost my footing?

There were other sounds now, though they no longer were delightful little birds. No, now the sounds were painful screeching noises. I tried to bring my hands up to cover my ears, but found I could not move. Oh! I ached! All over, I ached!

There was something calling me; something far yet not foreign. It was sleep, I realized. Yes, I was so tired. The world around me was cold and so painful! Sleep seemed inviting; the warmth it provided was like laudanum. Slowly I let myself slip into the dark abyss, willing sleep to envelop me and peel my pain away.

I woke like I usually did any other morning. Nothing felt unusual, in the least. But when I opened my eyes I saw strange people around me. Tilting my head in confusion, I looked out the window. It was night outside. What was going on?

An elderly man came to my side and patted my hand. "It's alright my dear. I'm Doctor Ess CharGoe. These are my nurses," he motioned to a pair of fairly attractive women, not much older than myself, "Miniôn and Filét." At first I though I was seeing double, until they each waved at me differently. Ah, identical twins.

I gave the most sincere smile I could muster and turned back to Doctor Ess CharGoe, my expression pleading for an explanation. "Oh yes, you must be wondering what the dickens is going on. Pardon my French." I raised an eyebrow. Pardon his French? Weren't we all French? Well, except for me but… "Anyway, I'm afraid you simply had a bit of a fit. That's all. Oh, but don't be troubled my girl!" Raoul burst into the room, cutting the good Doctor off in the middle of his explanation.

"Christine! Oh, my little Lotte!" He rushed forward and seized me in a zealous embrace. "This is wonderful news!" I stared at him, mouth agape. Good news? Me having a fit was good news? Maybe he _had_ hit his head after all.

The good Doctor noticed my reaction and gently addressed Raoul. "Monsieur le Victome, the lady has yet to be informed!" With an embarrassed cough Raoul moved away, running a hand through his hair nervously. "Now, Madame le Victomess," Doctor Ess CharGoe said, "you are almost two months with child."

Forgetting all about his foolish actions just a moment before, Raoul rushed forward and took me in another rib cracking hug. I winced, the words barely beginning to set in. A child? Good God! A child? Raoul smiled. "A boy Christine! Oh, I hope it's a boy!" He pranced around, suddenly unaware or our company. "My heir! My heir! Yes, he will be just like me!" I blanched. For however much I adored Raoul, I could not stand the thought of having to deal with TWO of him! Raoul saw me pale and took my hand, kissing each finger delicately. "Christine? Dearest?" I shook my head and smiled.

"It is wonderful news, Raoul. Only, perhaps a little girl would be nice. A little girl who, preferably, takes after…me?" Raoul nodded, agreed dismissively, then continued to jump up and down about how it _had_ to be a boy. I sighed, thanking the Doctor and the twins as they left. Raoul paid them, but said little. He was probably trying to keep himself from lunging out the window and informing all of Paris about our child, surely a son!

Blocking out Raoul's squeals of delight, I looked to the mirror. If I ever had a son I had always planned to name him Gustave, after my father. But now…

"Raoul." I said, interrupting his frolic in our bathroom as he changed. "If it is a boy, could I name him?"

"Of course, Lotte! Anything you wish! A son, my heir! Just imagine it! My image, only smaller! How glorious!" My eyes widened at the scary thought of a mini-Raoul.

"And if it is a girl, you may name it." If it was a boy I would give him the name of the man who I could, at the moment, think of only as Raoul's opposite. Perhaps something of my angel's would rub off on my son.

"Two months, dearest!" Raoul said, practically jumping into bed beside me. "Almost two months! That's how long we've been married! Do you think he was conceived on our wedding night?" I shrugged. It was a very romantic idea; the thought of our love creating life the very first time. "It is a blessing." He continued, laying back and taking me into his arms. "Our child will be perfect." He planted the sweetest little kiss on my forehead, and drifted off to sleep.

"Hopefully not as 'perfect' as his father." I murmured to myself as I too gave in to the darkness.

Please R&R and tell me if I should continue! If you don't, I probably will anyway...But I won't like it!


	2. Episode 1

EEP! I was so sick yesterday, I couldnt even wake up. So I stayed home for the day and decided to get online. What a surpirse to find multiple reviews! Wow! I never expected sucha quick, positive reacton! To my readers: I love you! I even feel better now. You all made my day! So here you are, more of My Father, The Fop!

**Episode 1**

"Christine!" Raoul called desperately. I looked up from the book I was reading and stood, supporting myself with the back of the chair. "Christine! Christine!" He dashed in and slid to his knees, taking my hands urgently. "Do you love me? Please, love me! Tell me you do!"

I regarded him strangely. Hearing him say such words, he reminded me of my brokenhearted angel as I left him for the final time. "Raoul," I said, snatching away one hand to support my stomach and squeezing him tightly with the other. "Of course I love you. That is why I am your wife. That is why I am carrying your _difficult _child." My pregnancy was a dangerous one. My child seemed to be unstable in the womb for some reason, and often times I had begun to bleed from exerting myself. Doctor Ess CharGoe had recommended bed rest, saying he had never seen an unborn child survive for so long through my severe circumstances. I prided myself in knowing how strong my son was, because it meant he was _not_ like his father. "I love you Raoul, so much." I repeated, lingering on that thought.

"Well…" he said, suddenly grinning. "You're going to love me even more!" I frowned, he had fooled me! Springing to his feet, Raoul held a pair of paper slips before me. "Look! Two tickets to the Opera! I know how much you've missed it!" I looked up at him with a gasp. "Don't worry Lotte, it is safe now! They say that _monster's_ body was discovered a few weeks ago. He is dead, dearest! And we are free!"

_Free…_

It irritated me that he could say that. Free? Him? When had he _ever_ been a prisoner to Erik? Well, except when he had held Raoul by a noose—but that was only once! After that night Raoul had been rid of him forever. I was the one who had been trapped, haunted by Erik. And now his death brought me no comfort, only regret and self-loathing.

"Raoul…" I whispered. "I cannot go, not in this…condition." He smiled reassuringly and ran his fingers through my curls, pausing with an expression of horror plastered on his face. "What is it?" I asked, concerned.

"Christine!" He said, clutching my hair. "I knew it, you tried to hide it, but I knew…" I took in a sharp breath. He knew?

"You _do _have split ends!" He grabbed a pair of scissors, which seemed to materialize out of nowhere, and quickly trimmed the tips of my locks. "Phew…" he sighed in relief. "That was a close one. Honestly Christine, you should take better care of yourself. Think of our son!" I threw my hands up in exasperation and waddled my way out of the room. "Lotte?" he called after me, utterly confused, but I quickly slammed my door shut.

I did not attend the opera. As much as I had longed to return, I knew it would be selfish of me to do so. I could not leave the house, not with my son's life hanging by a thread. Didn't Raoul understand? Even walking as much as I did could kill our child! I buried my face in my pillow and cried.

"Just breathe, Christine! Breathe!" Filét insisted.

"Hysteria can bring harm to your baby! You must relax!" Miniôn chimed in.

"Shut up!" I cursed, in the most unladylike manner. Those two floozies were really beginning to annoy me! And where the hell was Raoul?

Doctor Ess CharGoe chuckled and checked me. "Any moment now, you're almost through." He said, nodding. "She is fully dilated." He said to the twins who ran about trying to fetch more hot water, occasionally bumping into each other.

I pushed. God, at that moment I _hated_ Raoul! Why couldn't he have his _own_ bloody child? With some encouragement from the good Doctor, I pushed again. _Damn you Raoul! Damn you to hell! _I now knew why men hadn't been designed to give birth. Raoul would've surely passed out from the pain. Oh, and when he saw all the sweat and my messy hair, he'd lose his mind!

"Doctor!" One of the twins sniveled. "He's coming out backwards!"

The Doctor nodded, but smiled at me. "It's alright. Normally this can complicate things, but I do not believe your child is in any immediate danger. Just push! And breathe!" Damn it, if someone told me to breathe one more time…

"It's a boy!" The twins peeped concurrently.

"A boy?" I heard Raoul's voice from outside the room. "My heir!" He shouted and flung the door open. "Let me see him!" His line of vision caught the sight of me with a child sticking halfway out. "Oh…my… How do you…do that?" His eyes rolled behind his head, and he fainted.

"The Victome!" The twins gushed over the comatose Raoul.

"Never mind him!" Doctor Ess CharGoe ordered. "Bring me more towels!"

With a great cry I pressed my muscles ad hard as I could, and felt relief sweep through me as my child made its way into the world. I closed my eyes, exhausted but complete. Beside me I could hear the doctor washing my son.

A heard the clatter of something metal falling to the floor. My eyes snapped open and I turned to see the doctor staring at my son in absolute revulsion. What? What was wrong with him? I could see from here, he seemed perfect. What was it? Was he hurt? Was he _dead_?

"Ladies." He said, trying to hide the tremor in his voice. "Assist Monsieur le Victome." The twins nodded and began to drag him out of the room.

"Wha-?" Raoul stirred. "Oh! My son!" Clumsily, the twins let his head bang the door frame. "Oof…" he was out cold again.

The twins tittered nervously and continued to pull him across the floor, the door shutting behind them.

The doctor came to my side. I noticed he had my son wrapped in a blanket, covering even his face. "Monsieur?" I asked, worriedly.

"A healthy child." He began, not daring to meet my eyes. "Perfectly formed body, responds well to sound and light…" he trailed off. I nudged him to continue. "But Madame, oh I have only seen stillborn infants with such disfigurements. Half his face…"

I snatched up the bundle in his arms and tore off the blanket. My son, my beautiful child, half his face that of an angel, the other half a demon; he was the spitting image of Erik! A wave of emotion came over me and I shoved the child back into the doctor's arms. "He is not mine! He cannot be!" The baby wailed from my rough handling, and I began to weep over his cries. I brought my fingertips to my temples and pressed, trying to regain my sanity. This was what I deserved. I had been so callous to leave Erik, to think only of myself. Now I was being punished. But God, why my son? What had he done to merit such a cruel fate?

The doctor calmly placed the child in the large, over-the-top crib Raoul had purchased. He tried to calm the baby, but he would not stop crying and flinging his tiny fists around in the air. It was as if he knew how repulsed his own mother was and was calling frantically for me to love him.

Raoul burst into the room again. How that man could be up and around after loosing consciousness twice that day, I didn't know. I didn't care. Oh! What would he think? He was so full of expectations as he leaned over the crib to see his son. "He's perfect!" He said elatedly. Apparently the doctor had turned the child's face to one side. I braced myself as I noticed him reach in to touch our child. There was a gasp and a thud. Had Raoul fainted again?

No, he had dropped to his knees. "Christine…" he sobbed. "Is he….mine?" He looked up at me, his eyes brimming with tears.

Of course it was his! I had never been with anyone else! It was impossible! Vaguely I remembered a strange thought that had briefly entered my mind on our wedding night. I remembered several of the ballet tarts always commenting on how making love for the first time was painful for a woman. With Raoul I had felt no pain. But back then I had immediately wiped it out of mind, thinking it was our love that had spared me of everything but pleasure.

Could it be…?

No! I had never touched Erik! That was the whole point! My poor Erik had always been so unloved, even by me; his protégé! Raoul had been my first and only! Of this I was certain!

"Excuse me," The doctor bowed his head as Raoul and I both turned our pained gazes to him. "I believe the…_deformity_ may be due to Madame de Chagny's problematic pregnancy." He said with a pensive nod. "It is not unusual for children to be born disfigured when there is stress in the womb." I looked to Raoul. I could almost feel the guilt emanating from him for convincing me to go out to dinner with him on many a night when I should've been in bed resting. "If anything you are fortunate that his entire body isn't twisted. Heavens, he is lucky to be alive!" Raoul stood abruptly, unable to stand listening to the doctor's 'comfort' any longer.

Raoul left with Doctor Ess CharGoe to retrieve his payment. I was left alone in the room, with only my child's cries to accompany my tormented thoughts. Slowly, carefully, I stood. With the instincts of a mother, I went over to the foreboding crib and peered inside. Why wouldn't he stop crying? Tenderly I brushed the back of my hand against his good cheek. He stilled and his little hand grabbed my finger. What a grip! Such strength? How was it possible? "Oh, my son." I gently lifted him into my arms, examining the right side of his face. The skin was thin, parchment-like, enough so that one could see blue little veins throbbing from underneath. His skull was jagged and misshapen, with the eye socket sunk in deeper than should be. Half his nose seemed to melt into his cheek, part of it gone completely revealing a black cravat.

But his lips and bright, hopeful eyes were gorgeous. My son was gorgeous. "Erik." I cooed softly. "I love you." I went over to the bed and lay down, cradling my beloved child. As I held him I remembered the last night with my angel, how he had spoken of his mother's fear and loathing.

That would not be the case with my son. I would love him, paper, caress him until he felt smothered and asked me to leave. Yes, if anything my son would never want for love. I adored him! His face was nothing. He would grow up thinking his face of nothing more than an annoyance. It would not deny him life. It would not deny him love!

With a smile I began to sing. I had not sung in such a long time, I had never felt the desire to do so. But suddenly all my old dreams returned. It was Erik, I knew it. My angel had been returned to me, he had been reborn as my son, I had been given another chance. With this tiny infant rested my salvation.

I heard the heavy door downstairs close and the sound of heels ascending the steps. Raoul came into the room solemnly and looked upon me and his son. He opened his mouth to say something but could not. With a sigh he sat beside me, trying his best to hide from me how he averted his eyes.

"Raoul…" I said softly.

"He has my eyes." Raoul said suddenly. "He must be mine. Those are _my_ eyes." He gently brushed away my curls and kissed my neck. "Just as you are my wife." I drew away and smiled sadly at him. Raoul shook his head, resting it in his hands. "Well then, time for bed I suppose. You must be exhausted." He stood and retreated to the restroom to change.

"His name is Erik." I called out to him. I heard Raoul freeze for a moment, but then continue with his nightly routine unaffected. I placed a light kiss on Erik's little forehead and positioned us both to sleep, with him latched onto my breast hungrily. I shivered at the sensation of his harsh suckling, but let myself become accustomed. Raoul crept into the sheets beside me, repeating more to himself than to me that Erik had his eyes.

I glanced down and noticed a depth within those two glowing little orbs. It was as if Erik had been born with a strange sense of wisdom. No, his eyes held a spirit I did not see in Raoul. Quietly I whispered to Erik, "You're wrong, Raoul."

Raoul raised his head. "What was that?"

I turned to him and buried myself, along with Erik, in his chest. "I said…you're strong, Raoul." Raoul smiled.

"I know." He said, turning off the gas lamp. I sighed in relief and looked down at baby Erik. Perhaps it was a trick of the shadows, but I was certain I saw him smirking at his father's gullibility.

In the middle of the night I thought I heard a girl scream so I lit the gas lamp. There was Raoul, cursing. Erik lay between us, giggling and waving around a clump of Raoul's hair which he had mischievously pulled out.

With great fear, Raoul fled to the mirror to assess the damage. I held Erik and feigned sleep, trying my best not to burst out into fits of laughter. Erik noticed this and laughed for me.

Please R&R! If ya encourage me, we might see what havoc little Erik will wreak once he can walk!


	3. Episode 2

Thank you to all my lovely reviewers! You don't know how happy you've all made me! Infact, I think I shall thank you individually! Which is a lot for lazy me!

**All Apologies:** Thanks for the encouragement! This one's for you!

**Baffled Seraph:** I agree! Don't worry, we can still keep Christine hateable!

**Erik for President:** Don't I know you from phantom fans .net?

**vegman529:** If you thought baby Erik was amusing before...

**Phantazm:** glomp Baby Erik is just so hugglable!

**Silent Masquerade:** A sense of humor AND a sense of cynism. Gotta love 'em!

**Misty Breyer:** Glad you like my foppy Raoul. This isn;t really exactly how I picture him, I am exaggerating. But its fun!

**Kianra17:** Funny? Wonderful? Me? I CAN DIE HAPPY NOW!

**wendela:** My first review! You're awesome!

And that's about all I will allow myself to type. Sorry if I missed anyone, belive me it doe not mean I appreciate you any less! Now on with the show!

**Episode 2**

I felt a warm pressure on my cheek and woke to find Raoul, looking down at me with adoration. "You are so beautiful." He said softly against my skin. Oh my Raoul. He always knew how to make me feel so cherished.

"Raoul," I asked, surprised by my own shyness, "do you think you could stay home today?" Raoul chuckled and pecked my other cheek.

"I suppose. There's no major business to be taken care of, and even if there was I'm sure they could do fine without me." He held me close and rubbed his nose against mine. "I hope my wife hasn't been feeling neglected." He teased.

I nipped his nose playfully and smiled. "Hardly. I've had my hands full with-"My last words were drowned out by a crash and a shriek from downstairs. In a flash I was on my feet with my robe tied on. Rapidly I raced down the stairs, while Raoul was still barely getting out of bed.

"What is it? What has happened?" I demanded as I entered the kitchen. The sight of broken crystal scattered about the marble floor greeted me. Our ceiling lamp had fallen.

One of our servants, a maid named Crosisanta, hid behind me. "Madame! The child is mad!" She crossed herself and started weeping. "He was up so early, I thought hunger may have disturbed his sleep. So I brought him here for some breakfast but he disappeared before my eyes and threatened me!" She ran out of the room, leaving me alone for a moment. Out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw a black cloth ruffle above me.

Crosisanta was back in an instant, handing me her resignation. "Forgive me, Madame! I have served the de Chagny family for so long; it seems blasphemous for me to leave on such short notice. I care for you, so much Madame. You are like family. Believe me, I wouldn't do this if I feared for anything less than my life!" she started off, then stopped and turned back to me. "Or my sanity!" she added as she exited.

I heard Raoul enter, but as he saw Crosianta leave he was out and chasing after her. I sighed and rested my forehead between my thumb and index finger. Shaking my head in disapproval, I checked around the ceiling. "Well Erik, what do you have to say for yourself?" No answer. I grabbed a chair and propped it against the wall, climbing up for added height. Near the ceiling we had shelves to hold up expensive china plates as decorations. I had no idea how a child of only three years had possibly gotten up there, but intuition told me that this was where Erik was hiding.

I checked the shelf, making a mental note to tell the maids to dust up here more often, and spotted a small black figure huddled in the corner. I called to him softly and a small, round, frightened face greeted me. The white mask on one half of his face seemed to glow, then dim. "Maman, are you angry with me?" He asked cautiously. It took all my will to remain stern.

"Well Erik, did you drop the ceiling lamp?" He nodded his head slowly, keeping his eyes on his feet. "Then yes, Erik. I am angry with you." I saw a tear roll down his plump, uncovered, little cheek.

"You don't love me anymore?" His question completely disarmed me. How could he even think such a thing? I tried to pull myself up on the shelf, but with a creek of the wood realized I was too heavy. Instead I clambered back down to the chair and opened my arms up to him.

"Oh, my son. Of course I love you. I love you now and I always will. Nothing you do will ever change that." He looked away, considering. "Erik, come down here. You have been bad and you have to make up for it. And it's true sometimes I may have to punish you, but I will _never_ stop loving you." He looked up at me, trying to hold in his sniffles, and crawled over to me.

"I love you, Maman." He said, choking on his tears as I took him into my arms. Carefully I stepped off the chair and placed him on the ground, hugging him fiercely. It did not escape me how similar this all was to the chandelier incident, but I firmly wiped the thought away; refusing to let my fears of the past affect my child's future. "Maman!" Erik exclaimed, pushing me off of him. "Let me go! Father is coming!" I released him with a giggle; he always wanted to look like such a man in front of Raoul.

"Can you believe she tried to quit? And without even consulting me! I tell you, there's no good help these days." His eyes fell to Erik. "Son, what are you wearing?" How had I not noticed? Around his shoulders Erik had tied a tattered, velvet, black table cloth.

"Well I…" Erik removed his makeshift cape and let it fall to the floor, his eyes misting. "It helps me hide in the shadows when Crossianta is looking for me." He muttered, blushing. Raoul rolled his eyes.

"A de Chagny does _not_ hide!" Raoul corrected. "We stand up and face our foe head on, as is the honorable way!" Erik's eyes flared up with defiance and in one fluid motion the cape was back on his shoulders.

"But that's stupid! When someone's bigger than you it's suicide to fight them head on! You have to use whatever you can as an advantage to even the odds!" I stared, stunned by Erik's amazing ability to form such complete sentences. Raoul's eyes widened at his son's disrespect.

"Raoul, please." I interjected. "He's only three. He doesn't know any better."

"Because you don't teach him any better!" He said, rounding on me now. "You baby him, Christine! How will he ever become a dignified gentlemen when you _spoil_ him so?" He moved past me and glared down at little Erik. "Why would you do this?" he inquired, infuriated.

Erik faltered for a moment, but then regained his regal toddler stance. "She tried to make me eat broccoli." He stated coldly. "I told her I didn't like broccoli, but she wouldn't listen." He glared at Crosianta, who lingered right outside the kitchen entrance. "She brought it upon herself, really." He finished with a triumphant smirk.

"Nonsense!" Raoul shouted, stalking back to Crosianta and beckoning her to come in. "All de Chagnys _love_ broccoli! Now apologize." Erik shook his head.

"No." he muttered under his breath.

"What was that?"

"I said no!"

Raoul narrowed his eyes and roughly snatched the cloak off of Erik's shoulders. "Why in heavens not?"

"Because it would be a lie!" Erik yelled, tugging at the fabric in his fathers grasp. "I am _not_ sorry and to say I _was_ sorry would be a lie!" He stopped pulling, glaring up at Raoul. "And de Chagnys certainly do _not_ lie!"

Raoul only stared, mouth agape. Erik's astonishing, bizarre, and unbeatable logic had defeated him. If he made Erik apologize now he would be tossing away all his other rules which he based on the de Chagny's code of conduct. But if he didn't make Erik apologize, then he'd be letting his son get away without repenting for his sin.

Erik took advantage of his father's shock and grabbed his crude little cape. Placing the dark cloth over his shoulders, he faced his parents with a victorious grin. He had won, and he knew he had won.

"Christine," Raoul growled, finally regaining his senses. "I am going out. I will not force Erik to apologize. If he decides to behave like a _monster _then it is his choice. But make sure he _does_ eat his broccoli." Then he turned on his heels and left.

The front door slammed and I felt myself give into the emotions building in my chest. Falling into a chair, I cried. A tiny hand came carefully on mine.

"I'm sorry, Maman." Erik said sincerely. "I didn't mean to make you sad." He rubbed my arms and in a movement, so sudden I surprised even myself, I seized him into my arms.

How can I describe what it was like to have raised Erik those three years? He was impossible! Always so stubborn and with a logic that couldn't be beat. He had learned to climb almost as soon as he had begun to walk. He discovered how words could manipulate, almost immediately after learning to speak. His age made him easy to underestimate, and he was not only aware of this but used it to his advantage! How could I blame Raoul for being frustrated? How could I blame myself for wishing I had borne a normal child?

I gave Crosianta the day off, saying I would feed Erik instead. Placing him in his highchair, I tried to bring a piece of broccoli to his mouth. Erik refused.

"Come now Erik, it would make me happy." He glared.

"Why?" he asked, poking at the greens on his plate.

"Because I will feel relieved knowing my son is eating well." I answered patiently.

"Why?" he repeated, titling his head slightly.

"Because vegetables make you grow." I responded, a bit irked.

"Why?" he echoed, genuinely curious.

"Because…because they're magic!" I said, exasperated that we were getting nowhere.

"Magic? What rubbish!" he pushed his plate away.

"Erik!" I groaned. "Just eat it! It's good for you!"

"If it's so good why don't _you_ eat it?" he countered relentlessly.

I rolled my eyes. "Fine! You just sit here until you decide you like broccoli and you eat it all up!" he tried to protest, but I would have none of it. "No! You will stay right here and not leave the room until your broccoli is finished with!" And I left.

From the study I could hear Erik talking to himself. Curiously I peaked in to see how he was progressing on his meal. I peered in, careful to remain undetected, and watched the strange scene unfolding before my eyes.

Erik had stood up and was now circling his plate with a murderous gleam in his eyes. "So broccoli, my old nemesis, we meet again." He slammed his palms on the table and pointed an accusing finger at the offending vegetable. "You dare to make an enemy out of me? Fool!" He scrambled over to the drawer and pulled out some string. "My enemies die!" And in an instant there was broccoli hanging all around the kitchen, held in little thread nooses. Erik laughed maniacally. I gasped and fled to my room.

I did not come out of my quarters until Raoul came home. I was struggling within myself over whether or not I should tell my husband about what had occurred. I didn't have the chance to make the decision as I heard Raoul calling me urgently to the kitchen.

I scuttled in, my head bowed, and prepared to explain. But the words were knocked out of me as my vision met a horrendously familiar sight. On the wall was written a message, in blood? Unconsciously, almost hypnotized, I reached out to touch the crimson lettering. No, not blood. It was written in tomato pulp. Of course I had no idea how Erik had gotten his hands on a tomato this time of year, but that was besides the point.

I backed away, seeking Raoul's side. The message read:

_Dearest Parental units,_

_I "finished off" the broccoli, as per your instruction._

_I demand I be compensated for the stress this act has caused me._

_Please have some licorice sent up to my room._

_If my orders are disobeyed, a lamentable mess shall occur._

_I remain, Mother and Father, your obedient son_

_Erik_

I latched onto Raoul, frightened beyond reason. "Oh my god Raoul! I can't believe this!"

"I know." Raoul nodded gravely, pulling me close. "When did he learn how to write?"


	4. Episode 3

Grr! I posted the last chapter yesterday and it barely came up today so I didn't get to thank all my reviewers! Stupid system. But I love you all! Honestly I thought this story would end up being one of those inside jokes my "twin" and I found funny but everyone just kinda ...stared...at...

But your words inspire me! Yes, the story will go on! It must!

However, I am sorry to say this chapter will not be a very funny one. I need to add some drama in here, so I can put all the rediculous and annoying plot twists later. Again WARNING: This chapter will be mostly drama and not very humorus. But believe me, this chapter is essential to the plot line.

And for any of you who are bored of seeing things through Chrsitine's point of view, this should be refreshing.

Stick with me! Plz! The conflict between fop-err-father and son shall return! Here we go! My Father, The Fop!

**Episode 3**

She coughed until her throat was raw and bleeding. Heavens preserve me, would my mother die? I rushed over with the hot tea she asked me for, helping her to sit up. Her years as a ballet instructor were paying off, helping her to keep control over her muscles even when they refused to move.

"Meg," she rasped between sips, "tell me again where you are going. I can't seem to keep track of anything at the moment." I squeezed her hand and nodded, my eyes filled with both fear and admiration. Fear of losing her, admiration of her strength and will to pull through this. My mother looked so much older than she really was!

"I am going to Christine's." I rubbed her cold, wrinkled, clammy hands between mine; trying to warm them. "She has an appointment and needs someone to watch her son." I noticed the difficulty with which she furrowed her brow.

"Does she not have servants?" I gestured that she did. "Then why?"

I shrugged. In truth, when Christine had asked me so sweetly if I could do her such a favor, I had asked her the same question. Couldn't she hire a nanny? Christine had paled, as if what I was speaking was forbidden. She had rushed me into the backyard and kept her voice below a whisper. Her son, she had said, was _special_. She couldn't leave him alone with the hired help. She couldn't even leave him alone with Raoul! Christine insisted that I was like a sister to her, and the only person that she could trust with baby Erik.

When I had told her of mother's condition she had begun to cry. She had come to visit and even brought a doctor to examine mother. That was how I had acquired the medicinal teas. But the most noticeable detail of her visit was the small boy she had insisted stay in the carriage. I hadn't gotten a good look at him but it didn't take too much thinking to know it must've been her son who she didn't dare leave home alone.

And now she had to leave him alone. I felt incredibly trusted, if not a tad puzzled. The boy had behaved well, sitting in the car silently. He hadn't made a sound nor tried to get out. I had no idea what Christine had meant when she said he was _special_.

Then another memory had come tumbling forward from the back of my mind; the day mother and I had gone to visit Christine to see her newborn child. She had him in a blanket and half his face was always covered. Christine had told us straight out that he had been born deformed, but strangely enough my mother reacted as if she had _expected_ this. Of course I knew it was impossible for my mother to have known, and I was not as superstitious as Christine to think that fate had punished her. I figured there had to be a reason and had shrugged it off.

But as I bid my mother goodbye and instructed the nurse to take the best care of her, I wondered if by _special_ Christine had been referring to her son's disfigurement or to something else.

Ah well, I would find out when I got there...

Wouldn't I?

I arrived at de Chagny manor, just in time. I paid the cab driver and hopped up the steps, two by two. I knocked, trying my best to hide how jittery I was. Immediately the door opened and I jumped from surprise at how quick the response had been.

A kindly looking old butler led me into the foyer and took my bag. I stood nervously twirling my skirts. Moments later Christine was hurrying down the stairs to greet me. "Meg!" she came and embraced me. Only then did I realize just how much I had missed my best friend. "How is your mother?" she asked, drawing back.

I sighed. "Well enough, I suppose. Though there are some days I don't think she will make it through. But somehow she always does. And in no time she is feeling better again." Christine rubbed my back, compassion in her eyes. "Well!" I brightened, trying to change the subject, "Where is Erik?" Christine made a dismissive gesture and giggled.

"Oh, he's bound to be around here somewhere." I gave her an odd look. Around here somewhere? How could you _not_ know where your three year old was? A child that young had to be monitored at all times! "Oh don't worry!" Christine assured me, sensing me tense. "He is very independent. Practically takes care of himself, really." I raised an eyebrow at her. If he was so independent, which I doubted for such a young child, why had she needed me? "He has never spent a day of his life without me." Christine answered my unspoken question. "Please, take care of him. I trust no-one else like I trust you, Meg." She smiled and I could not help but smile back.

"Ladies!" Raoul's voice caught us off guard and we both jumped. Perhaps Christine was as nervous about leaving Erik as I was about meeting him. Why? He was only a child…

I curtsied politely as Raoul took my hand and kissed it. "And how is Madame Giry?" he asked, genuinely concerned.

"She has been better." I admitted. Raoul nodded and pet my head.

"We pray for her every night." He said dearly. I thanked him for his kindness. "Well! We should be getting along. Don't want to miss our appointment." I bid them farewell, feeling nostalgic as I saw Christine leave. Now that she was a Victomess I hardly ever saw her anymore. How I missed our childhood; when we were just two little girls, lacing up our petite ballet slippers, dreaming of becoming stars of the Opera House.

Warding away such precious but painful memories, I went up the stairs. I asked a maid which room was Erik's and she pointed to large mahogany door. Etched into the wood were the words:

_Do not enter! Knock._

How peculiar, I thought. Ignoring the warning I began to push open the door when a tiny, gloved hand pushed it closed again. "I advise you to comply." The owner of the gloved hand said. The voice had sounded so young and yet he had spoken with the clarity of an adult. I looked down. There stood a child, clad in black, wearing a table cloth as a cape, with a white half mask. It was like seeing the Opera Ghost as a child. Before I could think through my reaction, I gasped and moved away. "He's here, the Phantom of the Opera!" I found myself saying automatically.

The child regarded me oddly before stepping forward, his gaze boring into my soul. "The Phantom of the what-now? Opera, did you say?" He circled me, like a vulture did a carcass before picking at it. "I've never been called a ghost before. Let alone a musical ghost. Monster, yes. Beast, demon, hellion, several things. But I've never been dubbed a Phantom of an Opera. Then again, none of my father's servants have ever been creative enough to come up with such a name." He paused to give me an arrogant smirk. "Pity, wouldn't you say? No wonder my genius goes so unappreciated in this house."

I stared, trying to piece together what he had just said. His father's servants? Then this was Raoul and Christine's son? I gulped hard, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. "Erik?" my voice was a mousy squeak. I shook my head, trying to remain poise. I was the one in charge here; I could not be so frightened of a small boy! "You d-don't remember me." I was mentally kicking myself for that stutter! "I'm a friend of your mother's. I saw you when you were newborn. I'm-"

"Ah, Mademoiselle Giry!" he interrupted, recognition dawning on him. He couldn't possibly remember. That was impossible! Wasn't it? "Yes, yes. You've come to take care of me while my mother is away. Good." He inspected me one final time and then stood before me. "Yes, you will do fine." His short, minute little fingers wrapped around my hand and he led me to the dining room. "Here is where you will be joining me for dinner tonight." He struggled to pull back a chair, which was taller than he was, for me to sit in. "I understand the cook has planned to serve broccoli again tonight." I sat down and he walked around the table, disappearing from sight until he climbed up onto a chair across from me. Oh my, he was barely tall enough to look over the table at me. How could someone so small have such a powerful presence about him? "I detest broccoli!" he shouted, pounding the table. "That is why you must make sure that no broccoli is placed on my plate." He folded his hands, kneeling in his seat so he could reach the table more easily. "Instead you shall have it replaced with licorice, which I do enjoy. I am certain you have been told what happened that last time this specific order was ignored, no?" I shook my head, not sure what to make of the situation. "Hmm, too bad. I just hope you are wise enough to know that I am not one to be trifled with." He hopped off his seat and came over to my side. "Until dinner then, mademoiselle." And before I could respond, he was gone.

After sitting in my seat for what seemed hours, though I know it was considerably shorter than that, I concluded that Raoul must've hired a private tutor to develop his son's speech. There was just no other way a child of three years could speak so coherently! Yet somewhere inside I knew the true reason. Erik was indeed _special_.

I stood and walked aimlessly around the large house. Often times I thought I had become lost, but somehow always found my way back. Such lavish surroundings, no wonder Christine never thought to come and visit me! Why did she need a poor former ballerina as a friend now that she thrived in high society?

As my thoughts drifted around this depressing idea, I had the eerie sensation of being watched from the shadows. Somehow, through the slight fear it caused, this feeling was comforting. It was like being back in the Opera Populair. Yes, it was like things were back to the way they were before all of this. How many times had I complained about how tough practice was? And now that I didn't have it anymore, I would've given anything to go back to the way things were. But did Christine think the same? I looked around me, taking in the beauty of her luxurious home. No, she probably did not.

Dinner time came, and I sat nonchalantly in the seat Erik had designated as mine. I had not asked the cook to replace anything in his meal. After all, a child needed his vegetables. And I did not feel comfortable with giving him extra sugar without his parents' permission. I thought if I was strict the way my mother was with me, he would give in and eat his food.

He came into the room gracefully, which must've been hard to manage with his stubby toddler's legs. He gave me a wink and scaled his chair, with minimum difficulty. Neither of us said anything.

Soon the servants came in and served us our dishes. I saw the rich food and wafted the delicious scent. Did Christine eat this well everyday? Imagine! She was so fortunate.

But across from me Erik did not seem as delighted about his meal. Before I could even take a bite, he grabbed his plate and flung it into the wall. The ceramic dish shattered. The food stained the wall and dripped onto the lush carpet. "Erik!" I stood, appalled by his outburst.

Erik bounded up onto the table and glared at me furiously. "Did I not instruct that my vegetables were to be replaced by dessert?"

"Erik, I am not going to tolerate this type of behavior!" I said, raising my voice to match his.

"I could say the same for you, Meg!" My jaw dropped. His audacity both shocked and enraged me.

"That is it! A punishment is in order!" Erik laughed.

"I couldn't agree with you more!" he spat and leapt off the table, running out of the room and down the hall. I chased after him, thankful that I had kept in shape even after the Opera House had been closed down.

I found him in the study, where the butler had left my things. My bag lay open and crumpled, its contents spilled out on the floor. Near the fireplace stood Erik, holding a pair of worn ballet slippers. The fire was the only source of light in the room at the moment, obscuring Erik's face in shadows except for the white mask which the embers reflected and exaggerated. A red glow seemed to emanate from him.

"Give me the slippers." I said coolly, trying not to show my desperation.

Erik leered at me, his eyes shining through the darkness. "Such tattered shoes. Why would you keep them? I am certain my father would not mind buying you a new pair."

I shook my head frantically. "Those aren't mine." My voice was shaking. Why did I have so little control? "They are my mother's." A low, dry chuckle resounded through the room.

"Oh, I see. Sentimental value." He released the shoes. I gasped, but he caught them by the strings. "It's ridiculous, really…to put so much worth in something worthless." The flames cast strange shapes on his mask, emphasizing the hardness of his features and erasing all traces of childlike innocence or purity. At that moment, god, he looked like the devil himself. "Material objects are so easily damaged, don't you agree?" I said nothing. "I never liked having so many _things_. They are a tremendous distraction from what really matters. Perhaps it would be helpful if I rid you of such distractions." His tone frightened me. Was he insinuating what I thought he was?

"Put down those shoes!" I managed. Erik's evil grin widened, as if he had been waiting for me to say those very words.

"As you wish, mademoiselle." And he dropped the slippers into the fire.

With a great cry I rushed over to reach them, but in the darkness I stumbled and fell. When I looked up, there was nothing left to rescue. My mother's old slippers were nothing but ash. I got up on my knees, horrified to the point of numbness.

The gas lamps flickered on and I found baby Erik beside me. "May this be a lesson to you." He said icily into my ear. He made to walk off, but I suddenly reached out and yanked off his mask. He had exposed my fear of losing my mother. In turn I would expose his wretched little face.

He staggered backwards, holding the right side of his face with both his tiny, plump hands. My anger boiled up inside me and I stomped over to him, pulling his hands away roughly.

His face…

Images of that night came flashing back. That brief glimpse I had caught of the Opera Ghost as Christine had pulled off his mask during _Don Jun Triumphant_, was now reflected here. This child looked _exactly_ like Christine's angel of music, the angel of death.

To see such gruesome flesh this close was jolting, and I heard someone screaming. It took me a moment to realize the scream was coming from my own throat. I clasped at my neck, stopping myself. My vision focused and I found little Erik once again hiding his face with one hand, the other occupied with wiping away his tears. The child was crying.

"It's not fair!" he shouted, stamping his little foot. "Why did Maman have to leave? Did she forget her promise? She said she would love me forever!" He began to pace around the room, shouting at the heavens, perhaps forgetting all about me. "Everyone hates me! I'm ugly! I'm ugly!" he was kicking and screaming. "Maman is the only one who will look at me without my mask! She is the only one who will wash my face! Even father won't look at me! Why?" He fell to the floor, banging his tiny balled-up little fists into the floor. "I don't want to be bad! I want to be good! I want to be nice like all the other girls and boys! I want to make father happy! But I can't! I'm bad! I want to be good but I can't! It always comes out all wrong!" he was bawling. "Maman is gone! She won't come back! She said she would, but why would she? To see me? To see _this_?" He raised his head and pointed at the marred side of his face.

I couldn't move. Dejectedly he dropped his face back into the floor and continued crying. Seeing him like this, he looked like any normal child who was not used to being away from his mother. He was throwing a tantrum, just like any upset child would. He _was_ only a child. Between his astounding intelligence and my anger I had forgotten. He was just insecure…

He resumed thrashing about on the floor wildly. Between his wails he would kick his feet and slam his fists, never moving up from the ground. Slowly, I approached him. I wanted to comfort him. I wanted to cradle him gently and reassure him that his beloved mother would return. I was mere centimeters away from contact, when something crashed behind me. Erik's fit had shaken the walls and one of the many decorations around the room had fallen. Erik looked up and his tear-stained little face contorted into one of dread. He had dropped the de Chagny's family crest. It lay, fractured in two, by the chaise.

Just as I thought things could get no worse, I heard the front door opening and Raoul's voice coming from behind it. Erik swiftly slipped on his mask and glanced at me, pleadingly, before disappearing. I took the broken de Chagny crest and, on a whim, stuffed it into my bag.

Christine entered first and found me kneeled, placing my things back in my bag. She asked me how everything was, concerned. I forced a smile. "Everything's fine. Erik was no trouble at all." I lied. I knew the servants would not contradict my story; they were obviously terrified of Erik.

Christine placed a hand on her chest and took a deep breath, relieved. "Oh good! You have no idea how worried I was!" she flushed. "Honestly I half expected to find you scared out of your mind." I feigned ignorance.

"Whatever do you mean?" I said, rising to my feet. "He is an absolute gentleman, Christine. And so bright! I have never seen a child as clever as he is." Christine smiled.

"Thank goodness. I knew I was right to trust you Meg." She embraced me. I felt that the loss of my mother's old ballet slippers was somehow worth this moment, however fleeting.

Raoul walked in then, once again unwittingly disrupting our friendship. "Thank you Meg. Everything seems in order. You are truly a marvel." He placed a hand on my shoulder. "Here, I have something for you." He exited.

I turned back to Christine and found a puzzled look on her face. "Meg, where is Raoul's family crest?" I froze. "It is an ancient family heirloom. He will go mad if he finds it missing." I was about to tell her how Erik had accidentally knocked it down out of grief, but decided against it as I recalled Erik mentioning Raoul's lack of acceptance. The poor boy did not need another wedge between him and his father.

"It's safe!" I answered hastily, trying to concoct a reasonable excuse for its absence.

"Where is it?" Christine's tone remained sweet, but she had caught on. I was hiding something. Out of the corner of my eyes I thought I saw a swish of black behind the chaise. I knew he was listening.

"It's…" an idea struck. "It's a surprise!" I alleged. "I saw how dusty the thing looked and I hated the idea of something so fine starting to rust. So I sent it to a dear, trusted friend to have it polished." I gave the most convincing smile I could.

Christine appeared skeptical for a moment, but quickly bought into my ruse. "That's very thoughtful of you." She said, starring up at the empty space where the crest should be. "If it's meant to be a surprise, then I won't tell." She gave me a naughty grin. "Raoul probably won't even notice as long as no-one says anything." We giggled, her out of amusement, me out of nerves.

As if on cue, Raoul sauntered right in. He explained that since they had been at the doctor's office already he had taken the liberty to have my mother checked. The doctor had prescribed a medication, which Raoul handed to me now. I thanked him greatly and felt a twinge of guilt at having defended Erik against him. Raoul also proceeded in handing me my pay for watching over his son. I told him it wasn't necessary, but he insisted.

After saying my goodbyes I hailed a cab and got in, tired and ready to go home. I checked inside my bag, trying to come up with a way to return the de Chagny crest; unpolished and broken.

Surprisingly my hands found no crest inside my bag, but instead came in contact with a piece of paper. I pulled it out, perplexed, and examined it. The paper was an envelope, probably stolen from Raoul's desk. On the front was printed, in child-like scribbles, the words _Meg Giry_. I flipped the envelope over and found a clumsily made wax seal. Apparently, lacking a seal stamp, someone had dripped wax and carved a little face into it. The effect was endearing.

Carefully I opened the envelope and pulled out a small note. It read:

_Dear Mademoiselle Giry,_

_I sincerely apologize for my savage self-conduct earlier this evening._

_Please accept the fifty francs included with this note as condolence._

_I know what I have destroyed can never be replaced, and the idea saddens me greatly._

_However, you will find you are indeed a fortunate young lady._

_You see, I have gone through my father's schedules and it seems my dear mother has another appointment coming up next month._

_I request that you once again be my caretaker when this time comes._

_You will be justly rewarded. _

_The choice is yours._

_Your Humble Charge,_

_Erik _

Now I knew I had to be mad. For all his intelligence, it was impossible! He couldn't write! He couldn't compose entire letters and with such advanced vocabulary! Remembering what the note had said I opened my bag wider and found the fifty francs promised. This couldn't be happening. Had this mere _babe_ just recruited me to be his assistant? I thought of my mother's strange correspondence with the Opera Ghost in the past and shivered.

I had a bad feeling about this.

The bad feeling only intensified when I told my mother, and she didn't even bat an eye. If anything she seemed to have been waiting for this to happen.

This child's obsessive need for Christine seemed all too familiar, and somehow I knew this would mean disaster. Somehow I knew Erik would play a pivotal role in all our lives.

What I didn't know was whether his role would be one of good or of evil. And it was exactly what I didn't know that frightened me.

Review so I know we made it through this together! (bites down on hand)


	5. Episode 4

I was mad. Mad to the point of never writing this story again. Only two reviews? Why had my readers abandoned me? What had I done wrong? I had updated daily and everything! Then the anger passed, and depression soon set in. I clicked onto my stats one final, dreary time... and found that I had lots more reviews but the stupid site was taking a long time to upload them. WOO! Hurray for my readers! Honestly, I never show my work to anyone else. I love you guys!

**Episode 4 **

A month passed in a series of moments. Sometimes it seemed that it had passed by me, that I had missed where the days came and went. Other times it seemed to take ages for time to pass. Uncontrollably, the better my mother was the quicker the days seemed to end. The worse she got, the longer the hours seemed to drag. And it all was just moment after moment. Bits and pieces of memory, strung together like scenes in an Opera, to form the story of my life in that month.

Disturbingly enough, whenever my mother was resting and I sat back to relax in these brief moments of peace, I found my thoughts drifting off to that bizarre little brat Christine called her son. Perhaps even more disturbing was how I guiltily found myself looking forward to seeing that strange little specter incarnate. I was afraid of the little bugger, yet I was inexplicably drawn to him as well. It was as if he had captured my curiosity, as normal little boys his age catch frogs, and stored it away in a jar for him to poke at when other activities bored him.

So when a letter bearing the de Chagny seal came to my door, I was not surprised to find it asked if I would watch little Erik again. My initial reaction had been no. You see, my mother had suffered a relapse and I dared not leave her side. But the image of Erik writhing on the floor for his mother, whom he was certain would never return, made me reconsider my words. Further down the letter I found the reason for Christine's mysterious _appointments_, and came to the conclusion that I had no choice but to accept. Yet I dared not leave my mother in this state…

"Bring him here…" my mother wheezed. "If he is as you say, I am certain he could be very well behaved if he tri-" A coughing fit swallowed up the rest of her words.

"No Maman," I tried to be strong, tried to hide my fear, I had to be here for her. "You are still recovering, I cannot ask you to help me watch _children_." My mother only smiled up at me weakly and took my wrist in her frail, pale hands.

"He is not..." she paused to take a shuddering breath, "like other children." I sighed, looking down at her hand holding mine. Her veins contrasted so severely against her pasty complexion that it almost seemed as if they were on top of her skin rather than under it.

"No," I conceded, not wanting her to waste anymore of her energy arguing about the matter. "He is not." _He is much darker._ I thought privately to myself.

I wrote back to Christine, telling her of the circumstances. I did no receive a written reply. Later that week a luxurious carriage bearing the de Chagny seal pulled up in front of our humble flat.

I came out to greet them, fixing my unruly locks and smoothing out my skirts the best I could. Standing in the doorway, I watched as the driver opened the door for Raoul; who looked around before pulling a comb out of his sleeve and readjusting his hair. He turned to help Christine out, and as her feet met the ground I saw it. Her pregnancy was beginning to show now. It only made sense that they'd be making constant appointments with their doctor; wanting to be sure this child wouldn't have the same problems as their last one. I realized this with a bit of sadness. Poor Erik! If he knew his parents were taking precautions to assure they would never have another one of_ him..._ yet I could not blame Christine or Raoul for wanting a normal child.

"Come on out, Erik." I watched as Christine tried to coax a huddled shadow out from the corner of the seat. "It's alright. Don't be afraid." The shadow twitched, and then came forward slowly.

"I'm not afraid." A young voice said indignantly. Erik emerged, his little back rigid, and hid behind Christine's dress. I noticed he was wearing a hat this time, a miniature black fedora, down on one side to conceal the mask. I approached the trio, trying to seem as inviting as possible to ease the separation for Erik.

Gently Christine pulled Erik out in front of her and kneeled before him. "It's alright. I'll be back in a few hours." She smiled and gave him a motherly kiss on his unmasked cheek. "Don't worry. You won't be with strangers." Erik glanced at me for a moment, then at my shabby home, and turned back to his mother fearfully.

"Can't I come with you?" his voice was slight, so unlike the malicious tone of the boy who threw my mother's slippers into the fire.

"You know I would if I could, but children aren't allowed where I'm going." She stopped to remove his hat. "Be brave." She smiled again and began to clean off his face, as any good mother does to a grubby little boy of three.

Witnessing the scene, Raoul rolled his eyes. "Oh c'mon Christine! Don't do _that_!" he said, pulling her to her feet. "You're doing it wrong!" Christine and I stood baffled as Raoul squatted down and proceeded to wipe Erik's face, comb his hair, and overall just quickly primp him up a bit. "There, much better." Raoul stood, a master in the art of hygiene and personal appearance. "And Erik, you haven't been moisturizing your hair every night. It's beginning to thin." Erik raised his visible eyebrow.

"Father, I had no idea you were so covetous." He said, a bit sardonically.

"Oh, I know son." Raoul placed a hand on Erik's head proudly. "Someday, you'll be just as coveting as me." He removed his hand and stopped to comb the hairs he had mussed up. Erik looked like several of his illusions had been shattered. It was obvious his old man had no idea what _covetous_ even meant. Then again, I wasn't quite sure I did either.

"Alright, bye Erik." Christine said, handing Erik back his hat as Raoul helped her back into the carriage. Erik simply nodded, frozen to the spot his mother had left him in. He seemed to be taking it all rather well.

The carriage sped off. Only then did Erik's hands shoot out in front of him. "Maman! Wait!" he called, chasing after the galloping horses. "I'm coming with you!" he shouted at the top of his little lungs, trying his best to catch up.

"Erik!" I lifted my skirts and went after him, down the street. It wasn't long until the carriage was out of sight and Erik stopped. He looked around, terrified. He had no idea where he was. "Erik!" I called again, one hand to my heaving chest, trying to catch my breath.

"I'm lost…" Erik said, sniffling.

"No you're not." I said as warmly as I could. "It's alright. She'll be right back. You have to trust in her, trust in her love." He looked up at me apologetically. "C'mon, I'm sure my mother would love to meet you." I said, extending my hand for him to take.

"You have a mother?" He asked wide-eyed, in wonder. "I thought you were bluffing! Adults don't have mothers." I couldn't help but laugh at his innocence, prompting him to scowl up at me. "I do not tolerate it when people laugh at me, Mademoiselle Giry!" he said curtly.

"I'm not laughing _at_ you, exactly." I said as tenderly as I could. "I'm laughing _with_ you." His face made an adorable, puzzled expression which only caused me to laugh again. Erik placed the fedora back on his head gracefully and slipped his little gloved hand into mine.

"Will you take me out of the…open?" he asked timidly. "I don't like being outside my house. I hardly ever even leave my room." I squeezed his hand comfortingly and guided him back to my home. The entire way he tried to stand straight and walk tall, but I could feel his tiny hand clinging to mine urgently. I felt strangely honored to have his trust, though I wasn't sure why.

I closed the door behind me and locked it, just incase Erik tried to go after Christine again. I knew that if Erik really wanted something; no bloody _door_ was going to stop him. Still, it was all I could do to try and calm myself. "This is it!" I said, finally releasing his hand. He held onto me for a few more moments before relinquishing his iron grasp and observing his surroundings. His fear seemed momentarily replaced by curiosity as he took in the unfamiliar setting. "What do you think?" I said, trying to start up a conversation. The silence was unnerving.

"Where's the rest of your house?" he asked, tinkering with a few trinkets on the table.

"The bedrooms are through there." I pointed to the doors at the end off a small hallway. "Other than that, this _is_ the rest of it." He dropped a quill he had begun to fiddle with and looked at me incredulously.

"This is your entire house?" he whispered, as if trying to prevent from jinxing my home. I nodded. Erik looked around him for a final time and then shrugged. "I rather like it. In fact, it's much more comfortable this way." He easily climbed up on the armoire and stood atop it. "Mhm. One can see the whole thing at once. It's much more personal." He hopped off, looking pensive. "But it must get awfully crowded. Where do your servants stay?" I cast my eyes down to the ground, embarrassed.

"We haven't got any." I bit my lip, hoping the situation wasn't making him as uncomfortable as me. "It's just my mother and me. We can't afford servants."

"No servants?" he gasped in shock. I raised my gaze to him, still biting my lip. Seeing my reaction, his face softened. "…you are, indeed, fortunate." He murmured. At first I was befuddled by his statement, until I remembered what he had said to me on our first meeting:

_"I've never been called a ghost before. Let alone a musical ghost. Monster, yes. Beast, demon, hellion, several things. But I've never been dubbed a Phantom of an Opera. Then again, none of my father's servants have ever been creative enough to come up with such a name." _

His servants were always afraid of him, and their fear made them cruel. I remembered my own fear of him and, after seeing his vulnerability, a pang of guilt rose up in me.

A went into the kitchen, tying on an apron, and put some water to boil. "Are you hungry?" I called back to him.

"Famished!" he said, brightening. He came in after me and tugged on my apron. "Mademoiselle Giry?" he asked politely.

Opening the cupboard I answered without looking down at him. "Please. If I call you Erik then you must call me Meg." I concealed a shudder, remembering how he had used my name to disrespect me before.

"As you wish…Meg." He said shyly, then quieted. As I emptied the ingredients into the pot, I felt another tug on my apron. "May I meet your mother now?" I paused, speculating over what his interest in meeting my mother could be, and looked down at him. His deep, sapphire eyes were shining pleadingly. His full, apricot lips were set in a pout. Even the mask fell out of mind as I stared down at that cute, imploring face. How could I say no to _that_?

I gave in. "I suppose so." The endearing expression faded and Erik's lips twisted into an arrogant smirk. He knew perfectly well what effect that beseeching face had and he had used it against me. Oh! At that moment I wanted so badly to chastise him! But I knew the only thing that would accomplish would be to provoke his warped vengeance. I had this horrible image of being gagged and tied to a chair as little Erik pitched my possessions into the fireplace. The quill, the table, the pot, the armoire…I had no idea how he would manage to lift the armoire—but he would find a way!

I led him to my mother's room, instructing him to remain silent and make no sudden movements.

"Why?" he inquired, tilting his head to the side.

"She's sick." I said, shushing him.

"Why?" he repeated. I opened the door.

"It doesn't matter why. The point is you have to be quiet. Now hush!"

My mother was asleep on her bed, right where I had left her. Carefully I advanced and took her hand. "Maman," I cooed softly. "Erik is here to see you." My mother's eyes flew open in a panic. She tried to sit up and, coughing harshly, fell back down on her pillows. "Maman! You know you mustn't try to get up!" I reached under her and rubbed her back, willing the fit away.

Finally her coughing ceased, and her eyes fell upon little Erik. "Oh…" she breathed in relief. "Christine's son. When you said that name, I was certain we were back at the opera. I thought you meant the ghost." I caught Erik's ears perking up as he heard this but ignored it; having no desire to explain the tragic story of Christine's fallen angel. "Come closer." My mother beckoned him. "Don't be frightened." Erik glared.

"I'm not frightened!" he said. My mother beckoned him again and Erik came, removing his hat in reverence. "Madame Giry, is it?" he asked in a hushed voice.

"Yes." She replied, supporting herself on me and sitting up slowly. "My, my, my. You are his double." She straightened, taking on a firm air. "I trust you are a well behaved young lad, are you not?" It was not a question, but an order. Erik gestured yes, catching her meaning.

"Yes ma'am. Or, I try to be the best I can." His eyes suddenly widened, and he groaned dismally. "Those were _your_ slippers, weren't they?"

"Yes they were, Erik." She said callously, regaining the composure of a strict ballet mistress. "They were my first pair and held special meaning for me." I heard the squeak of leather as Erik's gloves stretched from his tightening grip.

"What am I supposed to do?" he said, his little body trembling with the effort to keep in his emotion. "I broke my father's crest, but all that took was money and a servant to take the crest to a blacksmith. How do I mend _this_?"

"Why Erik," my mother did not relax her unyielding tone. "It really is quite simple. What do you _think_ you should do?" He bowed his little head and whispered.

"I'm sorry Madame Giry. I never meant to hurt you or Me—Mademoiselle Giry." He caught and corrected himself. "I just wanted her to respect me." He said, raising his head to meet my eyes. "Maybe even like me." He added wistfully.

My mother took Erik's fedora from his harsh grasp and placed it back atop his head. "I know, child." She said, cupping his cheek before moving away to lie back down. "I have to rest now." She said, casually. "You two run along and have supper."

Erik bid my mother goodnight and offered me his hand. "Shall I escort you, Mademoiselle?" he said, bowing formally. I giggled and took his arm, allowing me to promenade me out, past a dusty bookshelf.

As we left the room I heard my mother mutter ominously, "God, let us hope this time Christine's love will make the difference."

Erik sat himself at the table as I brought in our plates. "Here, I hope you like pasta." I said cheerfully.

"I do!" he responded hungrily.

"I made sure to prepare a meal with no broccoli." I pointed out.

"Your efforts are most appreciated." He winked and folded his napkin, placing it on his lap. I watched, awestruck, as he continued by cutting every noodle into bite-sized pieces before sampling anything even once!

"Erik?" I said once I remembered I could speak. "What are you doing? Why don't you just twirl your noodles on your fork, like this." I showed him how.

He shook his head, still cutting. "No, that way is improper. My father says a de Chagny must always have the most impeccable table manners." He took his first bite, making sure to chew the contents of his mouth thoroughly, and swallowed. "Besides, and this is still my father speaking, I wouldn't want the pasta to accidentally slide of the fork and soil my exclusive jacket!" he rolled his eyes, taking another bite and savoring it.

"But Erik, your father's not here." I grinned wickedly. "And what he doesn't know won't hurt him." Erik's smirk grew to match mine, the boy caught on to concepts quickly!

"Yes, I see." He said, nonchalant. " I suppose you're right." Still, Erik went on cutting his noodles. I sighed, deciding it was only natural for Erik to grow out of being mystifying and grow into a fop like his father.

"So!" I said, dreading the silence as I always did. "Who taught you how to read."

Erik shrugged, complimenting and then criticizing me on the cuisine before answering. "My father usually reads the newspaper. The man has difficulty concentrating, so sometimes he has to read aloud. This way the sound of his own voice entertains him enough so he won't lose interest." He stopped to take a bite. "It's like he has the attention span of a fly. Do you have anything to drink?" I gasped and apologized for my forgetfulness, rushing to bring us each a glass of water. "Anyway, when I was younger I used to look at the letters and memorize what sound he made for each one. It wasn't too long until I could put together whole words and even sentences." He took a long, thirsty gulp of water.

"So you practically taught yourself?" He did not answer. I drummed my fingernails anxiously, trying to find a topic to get him talking again. I settled for the first thought that came to me. "Do you read often?"

Erik shrugged. "No. My father has plenty of books, but they're mostly either business or philosophy. I find the business to be quite dull." He did not comment further. I knew there must be a reason why he did not go on, but stubbornly I pushed him. "I don't read the philosophy books because…well…because…" he stopped cutting his food, and flushed scarlet under the mask. "I find I have…_trouble_ deciphering what the author is trying to say. Philosophers write nothing the way they mean it. It's all absurd imagery and meaningless metaphors!" He shifted in his seat, humiliated.

"It's nothing to feel bad about." I said, twirling my own food absent-mindedly. "You are incredibly clever, but you are still a child. I'm sure if you practice your reading, you will be able to read _anything_ you fancy in no time at all." He nodded silently. I looked down at my plate, remorse flowing through me for making him uncomfortable. The impact of something warm and mushy hitting my face snapped me back to attention. I wiped my cheek and looked down at my, now, cream stained fingers. Erik had thrown sauce at me.

"Oh, is _this_ how you want to play?" I scooped up a handful of noodles and flung it in his direction.

Erik rapidly ducked under the table, dodging the flying food, though not by much. "So!" he hollered from under me. "It is to be war between us!" I felt myself fall sideways onto the floor. Erik had tipped my chair over. Regaining my footing, I whirled around. He was nowhere in sight.

"Hiding, Erik? Where is your bravery? Where is your pride? I thought de Chagnys always stood gallantly up to their foes." A cloth covered object slammed into my back with a poof. I twirled, unconsciously doing a ballet step, and caught the object before it hit the ground.

"Yes, but my father is not here!" I heard Erik mocking me, but from _where_? "Remember the rules, Meg! I do believe you were the one who set them."

I checked the object in my hands; a shabby throw pillow. Erik must've been behind the settee. I dashed into the next room, prepared to ward off any planned attacks.

Nothing. The room stood still. I warily stepped forward. Where was he? I caught the sight of movement to my left. "Gotcha!" I proclaimed, turning. But it was too late. I felt something rapidly wrap itself around my ankles and hoist me, feet first, to the ceiling.

Erik came from behind me and clicked his tongue in a derogatory manner. "Really Meg, I expected so much better from you." The shimmer in his eyes was a familiar one. The memory of the Phantom, looking down at Bouquet's corpse from where he stood on the catwalk, held the same look in his eyes. I had been a fool! If one played with fire they were bound to get burned! In cajoling Erik's imagination to come out, I had let in run ramped! He had gotten carried away with the game, become a part of it. He drew some thread from his table-cloth of a cape, tying it intricately to form what appeared to be a noose.

_The __Punjab__ Lasso… _

"Erik…" I choked out as he secured it around my neck.

"There's no use in begging, Meg." he said into my ear with that familiar iciness. Was he just playing? He had to be! It was a game! He was just trying to scare me so I would surrender. Yes, as soon as I gave up he would laugh and cut me down. Wouldn't he?

I tried to cry uncle, but all I managed to get out was a timid whimper.

He chuckled dryly. "Go ahead. Order your mother to come here now! Raise up that pillow to above your eyes! Nothing can save you now, except perhaps—" A knock at the door. "Maman!" Erik cried, delighted. He untied the string and I dropped to floor with a loud thump.

"Oof!" I got up, holding my head. Christine was in the house. How had Erik reached the lock?

"Meg!" She took me in an embrace. "He wasn't too much trouble, was he?" The scattered throw pillows, the noodles and sauce on the walls, the toppled chairs, the noose-shaped thread around my neck; the woman was either blind, stupid, or in denial.

"She suffered no burden on _my_ behalf, Maman." Erik said smugly. "It was an uneventful day, really. I toured the neighborhood, met Madame Giry, had dinner, and then played a simple child's game with Meg. Nothing more." So it _had_ been a game. Yet something about that gleam in his eyes had told me a part of him was _not_ playing.

"So where is the miracle Erik tamer?" Raoul said as he came in. "Ah, Meg Giry, quite the lady of the hour." He kissed my hand, as was custom, and dropped a sack of coins on the table. The Victome did a double take and frowned. "My…" he said, trying to conceal a twitch in the corner of his mouth. "What an…_interesting_ sense of…decorum you have!" I couldn't believe this. He thought the mess was for purposes of fashion? Perhaps part of being in the upper class _was_ being either blind, stupid, or in denial.

"Why don't we head off?" Erik offered, sensing me tense. Just for that I wanted to bow before him!

"Yes, you must all be so tired! And my mother needs her rest. Yes, wouldn't want to keep you. I know how _busy_ you must be." Erik and I rushed them out.

"Meg, thank you again so very, very much! You don't know how much this means to me." Christine was babbling again! No wonder I was so unused to silence. I had grown up with her!

"It's no problem. Anytime! But you and your _husband_," I gestured to a lingering Raoul who had taken it upon himself to arrange my throw pillows by color, "shouldn't dawdle on my behalf."

"Father!" Erik called, sitting on Christine's lap. "Hurry! The carriage's curtains don't match with the seats!" With a tremendous gasp, Raoul was sitting beside them. "Good evening Mademoiselle Meg Giry." Erik smiled at me through the window. "Perhaps I could call upon you as a playmate again sometime?" For the third time that night, he caused me to laugh.

"Of course Erik. But no more life-threatening games, okay?" Erik pouted and grudgingly agreed. Then, inspiration hit. "Wait, I have something for you!" I hurried to my mother's room. The unkept bookshelf beside the door was filled with books discarded by the Opera House. I had never found any reason to read them, but perhaps they could bring Erik joy. Pulling whatever book I got a hold of first, I dashed back outside. "Here Erik; a book. Now you can practice your reading." I prayed this would keep him distracted so we wouldn't have to _play_ anytime soon.

Erik clutched the book lovingly to his chest. "Thank you." And the carriage started, riding away towards better parts of town.

(But both Meg and the de Chagnys had forgotten to check the book! During the ride home Erik's parents, Christine exhausted from carrying the extra weight of her unborn child and Raoul lulled by the carriage's rhythmic rocking, had fallen asleep. With adoring hands Erik caressed the cover of his book. "Ventriloquism?" he mused out loud. "Whatever could that be?")

DUN DUN DUN! What terrible pranks will Erik wreak upon an unsuspecting Viscount and his wife, once he learns to throw his voice! Also, now Erik knows people seem to think he resembles some "Phantom of the Opera" Will he uncover the past? And how will he react to his mother's new baby? Tune in next time! Same Phantom time! Same Phantom Channel! (Sorry! I couldn't resist! Plz review! I could use it! I'm going to the doctor's office tomorrow!)


	6. Episode 5

This daily updating is gonna have to stop. Sorry! Weekly updates for sure though, 'kay? I have schoolwork to worry about. It's a drag, I know. Believe me, I'd much rather be writing a new chapter and awaiting your lovely reviews!

This one's rather short. But it's really different!

I just had to add Raoul's point of view in here somewhere. Just so you know, I'm no Raoul hater! The fopiness is all in good fun! So enjoy! My Father, the Fop!

**Episode 5**

What a glorious morning! These are my first thoughts as I open my eyes and see the sun streaming in through my window. How I do enjoy a sunny spring morning! No worry for rain or mud that could damage your shoes or dry out your hair. Now where is my wife?

Christine, it seems, is in the bathroom again. My Little Lotte! It seems she is ill again this morning. She calls it 'morning sickness' and says it's all my son's fault. At first I think she means Erik so I ask what that boy did now. But no, she claims it is the doing of my unborn one. I shrug. It really is quite silly, passing the blame to someone who isn't even born yet! Does she think I'm a fool? As if he could crawl out of her belly, put strange things in her wine to make her sick, and then crawl back in all by himself. But I do not chide her. After all, she is only a woman.

I stand up and stretch, trying to ignore Christine's grunts from the bathroom as she spills the contents of her stomach. Suddenly I find myself face to face with a strange man! At first I think to pull out my sword and escort the man outside, he shouldn't be in a stranger's house uninvited! But the man is extremely handsome, so perhaps I shall only give him a harsh word. I approach the man, watching his details become clearer as I get closer. He is, indeed, an extraordinary gentleman with sparkling eyes and the body of a Grecian god! Perhaps, after I've had a talk with him about proper etiquette, I should ask him where he exercises.

I notice the man is coming towards me as well. Perhaps he means to apologize? I do hope so! We could be such friends! Hmm? What's this? I come into contact with a mirror. Why, this perfect man is me! I can't say I'm surprised. I should've known such silky sheen hair could've only been mine. I pass my hand through my sleek tresses just to make sure and mirror me does the same. "Quite a pair we make; you and I!" I say to my reflection with a wink. He returns the gesture with equal appeal. We each let the other experience the joy of our luminous smiles.

Not that I'm conceited! Not at all! It's important that every person has a positive self-image. Yes, everyone should like themselves. You'll never be happy otherwise. It's not my fault if my positive self-image just _happens_ to be so great. I didn't make myself flawless. I was born that way. Oh! It is times like this when I envy Christine! She is so lucky to be my bride, to have me as a husband! I will never be able to look upon myself as a lover, as she does to me. Such a blessed girl she is! But she knows this. She is happy. Why wouldn't she be?

I go back to check on Christine. She is still regurgitating. I rub her back and say sweet nothings into her ear. She is still going at it! Maybe if she didn't eat so much she wouldn't have so much to spill. Once she finished I voice this idea. What do I get in return? She slaps my face! Ah! My skin! She could leave a mark! What is the woman thinking? "Christine? Wait, what's wrong?" I ask her, hiding my offense.

"It's all just a game to you, isn't it Raoul? Just like your business deals and toying with Erik!" I am about to reprimand her for giving me such an insolent answer, but before I have a chance she breaks into tears. "Oh Raoul, all he wants is your approval. Can't you at least try? Give him a chance! You must have _something_ in common!" I sigh but agree. What else can I do? I don't want to see Christine sad. I love her. To see her smile is a beautiful thing. A beautiful wife to hang on my beautiful arm so we may stroll beautifully down the beautiful street. A match made in heaven! What a wonderful life we lead.

Christine is going to go check on our first born. It troubles me that he is _the way he is_. I still don't understand why he is _the way he is. _The entire situation is rather disturbing. Why should me son look like that _monster_? And often times his behavior is so savage, I cannot help but think he couldn't be my son. But Christine insists and I know her to be too pure to lie. So he must be my son. With a role-model like me, he should straighten out.

Well, let's see here. With my cufflinks in place, I am ready to go. I look splendid, if I do say so myself. So intricately dressed, just as current fashion deems it necessary. I reluctantly leave my reflection and exit the room. Just outside, a few of my maids swoon at the sight of me. Yes I know, ladies. I have that effect. But alas, my heart belongs solely to Christine. What a lucky girl she is, indeed!

I stroll down the stairs with extra _oomph_ in my stride to show off my new designer embroidered jacket. Christine is screaming behind me. What is it now? Does she miss me already? I wouldn't blame her. I feel rather empty being so far from my reflection as it is.

"Raoul! You forgot your pants!" My what…? Hmm. So much attention on my new designer embroidered jacket that I've forgotten to dress my bottom half.

"Christine!" I call, hiding behind a support column. "We should really consider buying a full sized mirror!"

It is later now and I am fully dressed; much to the disappointment of every French lady in town, I'm sure. Again, I am loyal to Christine! So very lucky she is! I walk out of the room, fully dressed, but cannot seem to find my dear wife. I try to ask a servant, but they are nowhere to be found either. Where is everyone? They must all have their attentions occupied on something else. But what in the world could be more interesting than me?

I hear a shriek. "Erik! Where are you?" Erik again! That's all I ever hear lately. Erik this and Erik that! That child will be the end of me! The stress he's brought on has made Christine gain weight and everything! Christine tried to blame it on the pregnancy, but that's what she said _last_ time. I'm not going to fall for _that_ trick again. She must be stress-eating because of Erik but doesn't want me to be cross with him. Well, we'll see how well _that_ goes, shall we?

I enter into the foyer, where it seems everyone has crowded around…what? I make my way to the front. They're all staring at a jar? Whatever in the world for? "Is this some sort of game?" I ask, because I am excellent with games. I always win, of course. And if I don't then that means it is a dull game and no-one would want to play it anyway.

"It is an accursed thing!" One of the maids, I'm not sure her name because she's one of the homelier ones, says.

"Don't be ridiculous." I answer, intelligently. "It can't be cursed. _I_ bought it." If it was cursed I wouldn't have purchased it. Or at least I would've asked for a discount.

"Erik!" Christine looks around her, near tears. "Where are you hiding?"

"I told you already, follow my voice." The jar says. My god! The jar can speak! I can't believe I've had this jar all this time and never knew it could do that!

"Erik, I know you don't like it when Crossianta gives you a bath, but you must be clean for today!" Christine is busying herself with that boy again. I, on the other hand, am examining this astounding jar. Perhaps it can be reasoned with.

I tap the jar. It does not react. Quite a complicated jar. "Christine, do we have any other jars like this one?" I conclude the jar must not be comfortable speaking with humans. Perhaps it will talk to another jar. Then I could record their conversations in a notebook and see what I can make out of their way of life. I stray away from my brilliant plan to ask Christine again, for she has not answered me. She does not even turn to look. She insists on calling Erik. "Christine!" I call, standing up and aggravated.

"I'm certain she heard you the first time." says a cheeky doorknob. Well wonders never cease! It seems the entire house is up and talking. I go to touch the knob to see if it will protest. It says nothing, like it always does. It is just cold and hard and pretty, like always. What is going on here?

"Erik, I don't know how you are doing this but please, just come down!" Christine thinks Erik is behind this? Well, it all does seem vaguely familiar…

"Just follow my voice!" It's coming from the study. All our servants rush in after the voice. "I'm here, I'm here!" Now it's coming from the kitchen. All the servants rush out of the study, into the foyer, and then to the kitchen. "Don't stop, don't stop!" Now it's in the gardens.

"Check in the rosebushes!" I exclaim as they pass by me again. Not too long afterwards I have them trudging back in, covered in thorns. They look rather ridiculous. I tell them this.

"Such spirited words, monsieur!" says the voice, coming from one of the many guest rooms. The servants all rush into the doorway at once and become stuck. I reiterate their ridiculousness. "Bravo, monsieur! So encouraging!" I am glad the voice acknowledges this.

Christine is crying now. This does not please me. I go to her side and hold her, she likes that. Yes, just cradle her. Tell her you understand and know just how she feels, even if you have no idea what's wrong now. Just assure her that everything is going to be alright, and sound sincere! There we go, that stops the sniffling and the sobbing. Now, what was I doing? Oh yes, that jar…

"Erik," Christine is on her knees. What is it now? I just held her! What else does she want? "Please, for your mother's sake, stop this and come down here." Seeing her so submissive, it suddenly hits me. That night when I sat in box five during Il Muto, a strange voice rang out through the theatre. It was everywhere and yet came from nowhere. If the opera ghost had such a strange ability…

…

…

…I know I am on to something! It is so frustrating when I know I am close, but can't quite seem to complete my thought. Maybe Erik has the answer. Is that why Christine is hassling him? That damned boy! Always hiding something! All this time I knew he was hiding, but I never knew _what_. Now I know. He knows what connection the opera ghost has to this magic jar!

"Erik!" I call him this time. "Come down here this instant!" He does not come down. I ask again, incase he did not hear me. Still, no response. I ask a third time, but Christine takes my shoulder and shakes her head. Poor, naïve Christine. If only she knew her son was hoarding secrets between her Phantom and the jar. I don't tell her. It would break her delicate heart.

The day is passing rather slowly. There is no sign of Erik, though we have searched for him all over the house. I tried to forget about the search, but the voices won't let us! Every time I settle down to take a break from searching, a lamp or a shelf will start talking to me and remind me to keep looking. This is how I come to the conclusion that the voices are working for the jar. I try to bribe them, saying I will match and double whatever their current employer pays them. They say money dos not interest them because my money _is_ their money. I tell them this can't be true, that I would have it written in my checkbooks if I shared my fortune with them. The voices call me a "Petty ignoramus." I try to sneak a peek at the dictionary to check the meaning of the word 'ignoramus', but the dictionary itself tells me not to cheat. It seems it too has crossed over to the 'jar side'. I must think fast, before my entire house is lost to that infernal jar!

"Come here" Christine says, her voice steady and sweet. She must have tired herself out crying. "How about if _I_ bathe you this time? Hmm?" I think it is a fine idea and go to accept, but before I reach her I see my son sliding down the stair's handrail. He lands in her arms and takes her up on her offer. "But just this once!" she says, ruffling his hair.

"Yes, Maman." He pauses. "Except for my face, right? You'll still do that?"

"Until you're old enough to wash your own face, I will be the only one." She kisses his nose. So the boy steals away all her attention. This has me fuming. There will be vengeance for Raoul de Chagny! I shan't play this game anymore! I shan't be intimidated by my own possessions!

I march straight to the foyer where the jar sits in the middle of the floor. Without even bothering to consider the consequences, for its legions may come after us in revenge, I smash the jar! Ha! Servants hurry in to sweep up the glass. No need to thank me, being a hero is part of being a de Chagny gentleman.

I wait outside the bathroom for Christine to finish. Water spills out from under the door, dampening my shoes. No! These are custom made! I grab a match and burn the pair, saving their ashes in a box. They will have a proper burial tomorrow. In the meantime I go to my closet and mull over which of my thousand of boots is the best to go with what I have on, finally settling on a lovely pair of navy blue. I go back to wait by the bathroom. The water is beginning to wet the rug out here. Christine must be getting soaked! Now I will have to wait for her to get changed, there is no way I am taking a waterlogged wife out in _public_.

She finally opens the door. I avert my gaze, unable to look upon her rumpled clothes and disheveled hair. She takes Erik to his room and tells him to dress quickly, we are going out. The boy is finished soon enough, but Christine is taking her time. That is fine, I can wait. I would not take her out if she spent less than an hour on her appearance anyway, heavens know I would never!

As I wait beside my son I try to do what Christine asked and start up a conversation. The grandfather clock replies for him. I am beginning to suspect that the jar was innocent.

The more reviews I get, the sooner a new chapter will be up here. It's like magic! Poof!


	7. Episode 6

Whoa, I don't know what happened but apparently this chapter was replaced by chapter 5. So, I'm reposting it.

Incase you forgot or are barely starting to read this story: Beware! This one's got quite the ending to it. Now some more of:

My Father, the Fop!

**Episode 6 **

A feminine scream came from just outside my room. "Raoul? Are you alright?" I asked.

"Y-yes…fine…of course. Why wouldn't I be?" he answered through the door. Erik had probably frightened him. How in the world did he make his voice come from other objects? It was a talent I knew my angel had possessed, but why would Erik have it?

My thoughts fled, as did my breath, as Cremabrulay tightened my corset. "Is it tight enough, Madame?"

"No, Crema. I can still breathe." I answered, only half joking. Soon I would be too full with child to wear such undergarments, but for now it was still a necessity.

I looked at my reflection and frowned. Since I first woke this morning I had a feeling of dread. Momentarily that dread had been replaced by nausea, but once I had found Erik missing that intuitive anxiety had returned.

You see, we were going out to visit Raoul's cousin Isabelle. Her husband had just purchased a new manor here in Paris and the couple had decided to invite any family in the area to come and see it. The de Chagnys were a social family, any reason to have a party. I had no reason to object. Raoul's family, though I knew they looked down upon him for marrying a poor low-class opera singer, was always polite. Behind our backs they probably made us the gossip victims of the day, but whenever we were in their presence they were perfectly sweet. Sometimes I even dared to hope they would learn to accept me, in time.

The problem was the invitation was for the entire family; including our son. I couldn't ask Meg to sit him again. I had already called upon her more than was seemly and with her mother ill! No, Erik had to come along. There was no getting out of it. Still, the possible consequences of the situation were daunting. I could already picture Isabelle screaming as Erik set fire to her new home. Heaven forbid!

"Crema!" I squealed, feeling faint from the pressure of the corset. "There must be an easier way!" Why did Raoul's family have to suddenly remember us now?

I walked out of my room, taking a deep breath to calm myself, and smiled at the two men waiting for me. Raoul sighed, obviously relieved to have me come between him and his son. Erik did not move, though his eyes remained locked on my form. "Shall we?" I said with false cheer.

"After you, Little Lotte." Raoul offered me his arm, which I took with a thin smile. Erik followed behind us, his tiny hand clutching my skirts.

We climbed into the carriage, Raoul beside me and Erik on my lap. I was pleasantly surprised by Erik's sudden docile behavior and dared to dream that all would go well at this family reunion. "Just you wait!" Raoul was as giddy as a schoolgirl. "This is going to be _the_ party." Erik scoffed. "What? Don't you want to meet your cousins?" Raoul answered harshly. Erik did not dignify his question with a response.

As we rode through the city Raoul went on about how great this event would surely be. I felt Erik tug on my blouse, whispering into my ear so Raoul could not hear. "I love you Maman." I pulled away and looked at him strangely. His eyes held a peculiar expression, one I knew all too well. My angel's eyes had often held that look. It was a look that pleaded, begged for love. But that had been expected given the situation. I didn't understand why _my son_ should be insecure about my love for him. Yet these times were not uncommon; when he would just need me to hold him and repeat to him how loved he was. What a load. Yet as time consuming and bothersome as it all was, I could not bare the thought of little Erik doubting my love. So I sighed and patiently pulled him to my bosom, whispering just what he wanted to hear.

"I love _you_, Erik. So much." I stroked his hair, feeling his little hands cling to me needily. I could not judge him. After all, I had not been born scarred. What did I know of his pain? For all his brilliance my son knew too much of pain. Oh, how I had tried to spare him! But Erik was _unique_, and the world seemed to not want someone so different.

"We're here!" Raoul cheeped. I couldn't believe it, was he wearing some of _my_ rouge on his face? "Now look your best! Appearance is everything!" Erik rolled his eyes and I giggled.

We unloaded the carriage and walked to the front door, Erik latching onto my hand as if for dear life. Raoul stopped to fluff up the lace on my collar and add a few last minute touches to my outfit. He turned to do the same to Erik, but a rude comment from the lamppost caused him to reconsider. With anticipation, Raoul straightened himself and knocked on the door.

It was answered a moment later by a rather plump but attractive young woman. "Raoul! My cousin!" She embraced him, careful not to mess his hair. From over his shoulder she noticed me. "Oh, and… Caroline, is it?"

"Christine." Corrected Erik without hesitation. Her eyes fell to my skirts, where Erik stood cynically.

"Yes of course!" she said with false remorse. "How clumsy of me. And this must be…?" I could almost hear Erik's eyes narrow and his little fists clench.

"Our son, Erik." I intervened before Erik had mailboxes responding for him. "It's very nice to see you Isabelle. Your home is lovely." I said trying to shift the subject.

"Thank you! It is lovely, isn't it? Come inside." She ushered us into the ballroom, where several distinguished guests already danced or stood sipping champagne.

Raoul excitedly took my hand, pulling me onto the dance floor. Erik tried to follow but was blocked by a large, blotchy skinned, balding, hag of a woman. "This is an adult's party." The witchy servant said harshly. "All children are to go to the playroom." Oh, the woman was positively frightening! I stopped Raoul, telling him to wait a moment while I situated Erik with the other children. But as I approached I found no need to. Erik proudly lifted his head and faced the woman bravely.

"I assure you, _Madame_," his words dripped with mock formality, "I am no mere child. But if you insist then I must ask you escort me for I know not the way." The hag seemed strangely disappointed, as if she had been expecting Erik to burst into tears. With a snarl she led the way. Erik paused to look back at me, fear flickering in his eyes for just a moment, before he turned and followed.

I was relieved to see him behave so well. Still, the entire situation was killing me internally. How would Erik react to other children? He had seen his cousins from afar before but never without me by his side; let alone had he ever associated with them! I prayed fervently that his genius would aid rather than estrange him.

Returning to Raoul I bowed my head, my lips still forming the words to a silent prayer. Raoul did not notice as he led me in a dance, showing off in front of all of fashionable Paris society. I, as always, just went along for the ride.

The hours passed on by. It was a fair party, as glamorous as the life I had grown accustomed to. Among such shallow and fabulous beings, the kings and queens of the world, my former life as a simple chorus girl was completely forgotten. Consequently, with it was forgotten my angel and the distinctive qualities of my son.

Surrounded by the mad rush of gossip and riches, I lost myself. I served solely as a decoration on my husband's arm as he made small-talk. Strangely, I found myself enjoying such a role. Suddenly the music died down and the lights dimmed, bringing me hurling back to reality. I held my head, dizzy with the contrast between the real world and the world of the privileged. My god, where was Erik? How could I have left him alone for so long?

My vision involuntarily darted over to the staircase. Would he be standing at the top, clad as Red Death?

"Maman! Maman!" I heard a child's voice echo through the now silent room. I was simultaneously filled with both relief and dread as I realized it was not Erik rushing down the marble steps. It was one of Isabelle's sons, the youngest of the three, about Erik's age.

"What is the meaning of this?" his father roared. "Such an impudent interruption!"

"But father!" the child was now in tears. "Roland has gone mad!" The guests began to murmur amongst themselves. Isabelle looked as flustered as a hen trying to lay an exceptionally large egg. The poor woman and her 'mad' son would surely be the talk of high-class Paris for weeks to come. She and her husband quickly bolted up the steps after them. On her way I noticed Isabelle slap the head of her eldest son, age seven, and whisper something to him. The boy then turned to the guests, assuring us all that everything was fine and that the festivities should continue as before. It only took a second for several of the more superficial visitors, including Raoul, to pick off right where they left off. In the brief moment of confusion I took off after the witchy servant, asking her to take me to the playroom.

After a brief argument with the hag, I found myself beside Isabelle and her husband, just outside the room. We opened the door slowly and found five year old Roland curled in a ball, rocking himself back and forth.

"Roland?" Isabelle said, more annoyed than concerned. "Tell mummy what's the matter."

Roland raised his head, his hands clamped hard over his ears. "The voices…" he muttered.

"What voices, sweetheart?"

"The voices…in the walls…" he went on, his mouth foaming in pure and utter terror. "The voices won't stop. They want my soul!" His father's eyes went wide. Isabelle gave a short scream and crossed herself. The boy looked positively insane.

"What happened?" the man demanded, yanking up his disturbed son to his feet by his lapel.

The other guests' children were backed against the wall. The eldest boy in the room, about nine, came forward to explain. "We-we were playing…" he stuttered. "Just a game… th-there was no harm in it…" he looked around wildly as if the walls would speak up any moment and contradict him.

"Well? What happened?" his voice was growing ragged in rage.

"It wasn't our fault!" the boy shook his head rapidly. "Sir, he was strange from the moment he walked in here. I knew there was something wrong with him! Dressed in all black…" I prayed with every fiber in my being he was not referring to Erik.

"And with that _mask_!" a slightly younger girl chimed in. My hopes shattered. What had he done?

Isabelle rounded on me, shoving me, with fire in her eyes. "Your boy! _Your_ boy!" she emphasized me, as if Erik was no part of Raoul. "I knew that whelp was the devil! I saw it in his eyes! Those eyes that _burn_!" She began shrieking at the top of her lungs. She was hysterical! I didn't know what to say or what to do. Overwhelmed I sunk to my knees and cried, tucking my legs to one side beneath me.

"You will do well to leave Madame de Chagny alone!" a disembodied voice resounded in the room. Isabelle's face grew pale, but she refused to calm.

"You bastard of a child!" she hissed. "This is the devil's work, it is!" She bent at the waist to shove me. Without any strength to support me, I fell bonelessly to the floor in a heap. My sobbing did not cease. "I graciously invite you and your whore of a mother into my home, and this is how I am repaid?" She had hurled insults at him mercilessly, but he had not reacted. But hearing her insult me must've done him in. In a blur of black fabric Isabelle was the one on the floor as I was lifted up by two small but powerful little gloved hands.

With a yell of rage her husband charged furiously towards us. I gasped in motherly fear for my son's life as Erik just stood in his path, undaunted. Just as he was within the older man's reach, Erik slid to the side and held out his foot. The man tripped and fell, sliding beside his wife on the floor.

"Come," Erik said, taking my hand hastily, "we must return. Father will be missing you." I could not react. My mind was a blank. I followed blindly as Erik led me down several complicated halls, avoiding the servants who were chasing after us, finally coming to the ballroom. Raoul didn't seem to have even noted my absence until Erik informed him of our return.

"We have to leave!" Erik demanded, tugging on Raoul's trousers. "Now!" he added, seeing the servants pour into the room.

"But why? The night is still young!" Raoul protested, stomping around like a whiny, spoiled schoolgirl. I wanted to help Erik convince Raoul quickly, but I couldn't speak. I couldn't even formulate a sentence. My mind had shut down completely.

"People are coming after us!" Erik said through clenched teeth. "We have to leave before they call the police!" The idea of being in trouble with the law and tainting his perfect reputation was profane to Raoul. With a hurried farewell he fled, almost forgetting Erik and me.

Only once we were heading home did I remember how to speak. I explained to Raoul what I had seen, regretting it almost immediately.

"He did _what_?" He gripped his hair, almost ripping it right off. To do such a thing Raoul had to be beside himself with fury. I his behind Erik, feeling like the biggest coward and traitor since Judas Iscariot. "Stop the carriage!" Raoul shouted, kicking the door open. Roughly, he seized Erik and placed him in the street. "Well, if your mind is so good for doing bad things like driving your family mad, let's see you put it to better use!"

"Raoul, please…" I cried softly.

"It's for his own good!" Raoul shouted, slapping my hands away from him. "He is hell bound! He must pay for his sins or his soul will be lost! You know that!" I had never seen Raoul like this, not since his swordfight with my angel. I was far to terrified to fight him. Leaning back in my seat, I brought my hand to my mouth to cover my sobs. Raoul instructed Erik who was now calling to me fearfully. "Find your way home." He slammed the door shut.

"What? Maman!" I heard Erik crying for me through the glass of the window. It took a lot for my son to full out cry. He didn't know his way home! Raoul was not thinking clearly! He couldn't mean this!

"Take us home." Raoul told the driver, his voice devoid of all his usual warmth. With hesitation, the driver whipped the horses and started off.

"Maman!" his voice was cracking. "I'm so sorry! I'll be good from now on! I swear it! Just don't leave me! Please, don't leave me!" I banged my head against the window, not sure whether I was trying to break the glass or drown our Erik's cries. Raoul pulled me away.

"No! Let me go!" I shrieked, thrashing fiercely in his grasp. But Raoul was too strong. He pushed my head into his chest, holding me to him.

"The house is only a couple blocks from here." He assured me. "He will be fine." Was he stupid? Erik was only three! It was so easy to forget but he was only a _baby_!

I had never felt pain like this. Never! Growing up without a mother, losing my father, being betrayed by my angel, it didn't compare! Losing a child was unlike anything I had ever known before. Somehow it already felt like he was dead. But Raoul wasn't the one to blame for this. I was. I had seen Raoul give such a foolish punishment and I had done nothing to stop him. And here I was, seeking consolation from the man I should've stood up against. Would I never learn? I was the most horrid, putrid, disgusting creature ever to live. I did not deserve Raoul's love, nor my angel's. What had either of them ever seen in me?

We rode on home, Erik's desperate cries ringing in my ears long after he was out of sight.

Review! Reviews are wonderful things! They make Erik happy!


	8. Episode 7

Alright! I guess I had to put little Erik's POV in here sooner than I planned. Oh well! Let's see how he deals with this. Get your tissue boxes ready. This one's bound to be a tear-jerker!

I will be posting two chapters tonight, so don't miss the humor too much. The next one will be funny. Maybe Christyine and raoul will get what's coming to them!

As for the reviewer who asked if Erik could get his memories from his past-life... uh... I can't do that. You see, old Erik will return to us, but not in the way you'd expect. But that's one of the annoying soap-operaish plot twists! I can't give away too much!

So let's just read, shall we? Yes Raoul is still a Fop.

**Episode 7**

At first I didn't believe what was happening. I thought I had misunderstood or that my father was joking. It wasn't unlike him to make jokes that had very little to no potential to be humorous. But once my feet touched the ground I knew. I knew exactly what was happening. They were abandoning me.

My first reaction was to call to my mother. Softly, thinking, wanting to believe that the only reason she had done nothing to stop this was that she didn't know what was happening. But I soon became desperate, my murmur of her name becoming wails. Then I knew. _She_ knew I knew. She wasn't going to do anything to stop this.

As soon as the door shut I came to my senses. _They were going to leave without me._ I shouted, I screamed, I gave chase, but they did not slow and soon were long gone.

Suddenly I stood, alone, in broad daylight. I looked around but soon noted that I had no _clue_ where I was. I was frightened. My first instinct was to curl up and keep crying, but my reason told me that action would be unwise. No, it would only draw attention to me and seeing the crowds of people around I knew I was in danger of being unmasked. I had learned earlier that day curiosity can fuel cruelty. It was a lesson I now paid for in full.

I had to get out of the streets. All around me people were shopping and skipping along wearing bright or pastel colors. As small as I was in stature and wearing all black; I must've stood out like a piece of broccoli in a box of licorice. Even worse was the white mask contrasting sharply against the rest of my wardrobe. With shaking hands I pulled my hat down lower over the right side of my face, concealing my cover.

Where could I go? I had no idea as to which way home was. I tried hard to remember what my house even looked like, but found I was far too emotional at the moment to focus. No, I had to hide away for a while. I had to find a secluded place where I could sit and think. My father said my mind had gotten me into this and could get me out. So be it. I wiped my face with my sleeve, trying to clean my face of more than just tears.

"Hey! Move it!" I jumped at the sound of a driver yelling at me. I felt my soul tearing, I wanted just to fall to the floor and cry into the cobblestone street. "You're in the way!" he was angry! No, I couldn't let my fear turn me weak. I needed strength now, strength!

Keeping my head down, I walked out of the street. The carriage raced past me with lightning speed. I should know; I've seen lightning before, but only from inside the house and never so dangerously close. At the time I had also been sitting comfortably with my mother. Not like now. "Maman…" I whispered, feeling my voice give. No! I shook my head. Strength! I needed strength! There would be time to be afraid and cry later.

The question was, where could I go? All around there were several shops and boutiques were people came and went merrily. Even if I didn't understand the name of a store, I could tell what each place sold just by the packages each person walked out with.

I was in a bad situation. I had no money. No one would want a strange masked little boy lingering in their store without making a purchase. I reached inside my cloak and fingered my thread lasso to calm myself. I don't know why I made it. The shape just seemed right to me. Well for whatever divine power that had possessed me to tie thread in such a way, just carrying it with me made me feel more secure.

I took a few long, deep breaths to relax. I had this dreadful feeling that everyone was watching me. I shook my head and told myself this wasn't true, _forcing_ myself to believe it.

Then I saw it. Straight across from me there was s set of concrete steps leading up to a large building. The people that came out of this place were not too different from any of the others, except that they carried books. I read the sign out loud to myself. "L-l-lai… braaaaare… eee. Li…bra…ry. Library!" I smiled. I always liked finding new words and sounding them out. Even better was discovering I _knew_ this word. Yes, I heard my mother mention something about a library once. It was a place where you could borrow books. I liked that idea. It had to be a good place.

Checking both ways for oncoming carriages, I didn't want to repeat the whole scary scene with the last driver I got in the way of, I crossed the street. The library looked bigger from up close. The sun was behind it, causing it to cast a large shadow over me. I felt my confidence draining away. I was frightened. I wanted to go home! I wanted my mother!

"Are you lost, little boy?" a woman came up behind me. I tensed, not daring to turn around. I couldn't turn around! She would see my mask and want to see what was behind it. She would see my face and scream. People would come after me, just like before at Aunt Isabelle's party. No, I had to get away from her without calling any attention to myself.

A man dressed in all black passed by me. Thinking quickly I walked behind him, much closer than was normal. Oh, I hoped this would work!

Assuming I was the man's son, the woman lost interest and went along her business. I sighed, clutching my lasso to stay calm, and followed the man in black into the library.

It was even more amazing than I had imagined. Everywhere there were shelves filled with books upon books upon books! I never knew there were so many books in the world! I concluded that I should start reading more often so I could eventually read them all. Maybe, when I'm older, I could come back here and get books everyday. I would like that.

I noticed this place was quiet. It was perfect. Silently I crept to the back of the library, finding an empty table between two shelves to hide under. There was no one around, it was quiet, and slightly dark. I felt safe, like nobody could find me. There I could start to think.

I didn't know where I was or how I was going to get home. The thought scared me, so I wiped it away. No, I had to keep my head clear of fear. Oh, how had I ever gotten into this mess?

Yes, I remembered. Aunt Isabelle's house, that's where it had all begun. I had been following that portly maid of my aunt's. She was a sick woman; trying to poke at me, saying my mother would be too busy enjoying herself for me, trying to reach for my mask when she thought I wasn't paying attention. Her arms had been incredibly greasy, with pulps of fat dripping off her bones, kept in place only by her baggy skin. Two large hairy moles seemed to be trying to escape from her face, prepped to launch off into the air at any moment. I know I'm not one to talk about appearances, but the woman was revolting. Not that I didn't think most people were anyway. People were, as far as I knew, in general repulsive. The exception being, of course, my beautiful mother. She was different, precious, I love her.

My father was another story altogether. I did not find him to be disgusting like so many other people, and I respected him so much. But I could not say I loved my father. I supposed I wasn't the type to love anyone or anything, not even myself. I only loved my mother.

Oh! How could I forget? The Giry's! Meg and Madame Giry were wonderful people. I liked them. I respected them. They are the only people that can make me feel well without my mother. Still, even my feelings for them did not go beyond fondness.

I had decided, as I followed that wretched woman and guarded my mask against her, that I would avoid confrontation against my vile _cousins_. I would simply sit in a corner and keep to myself until my mother came up to take me home. I could do that. I often stayed alone in my room to avoid my father's servants.

But as soon as I set foot into the room everyone crowded around me. I told them who I was and tried to walk off. They did not let me through. Instead they began to bombard me with questions. "Why are you dressed so weird? Why do you walk so straight? What's with your odd hat? Is that a table cloth you're wearing?" and of course, the one I dreaded most, "A mask?"

A girl, bigger than me, had stepped forward. She looked ridiculous in a frilly periwinkle dress and with a huge pink bow on her head. I couldn't help but snicker. This had not pleased her.

"What are _you_ laughing at, mask face?" she had said, tipping her nose up.

"Nothing. You just look awfully overdressed. Though your parents probably dressed you." I said truthfully.

"I do not need my parents to dress me!" She stomped her foot. "Those of us well off enough have _servants_ to do that for us." I rolled my eyes.

"Yes, yes. _We_ may have servants. That doesn't mean we should let them make all our decisions for us, including how we dress. It kind of defeats the purpose of _having_ servants, don't you think?" She fumed.

"I bet you think you're smart, don't you?" I nodded. I knew I was smart. "Well you're obviously not that smart, or else you would know this isn't a masquerade party!" She reached out at me. Alarmed, I grabbed her wrist. She tried to pull away, but I held fast. I didn't know what to do, I was in a panic. I didn't even consider that I could be hurting her with my tight grip. She started to scream.

"Hey, let her go!" One of the other boys said. I recognized this one as my cousin Roland. I released the girl and looked up at him. He was two years older than me, but I knew I was stronger. My mother always said I was unusually strong for my age.

The girl retreated back into the group, whimpering and holding her wrist. Roland pushed me. I stumbled back a few steps, but then stood up straight and held my ground. "Don't touch me!" I snapped, reaching into my cloak to touch my lasso. I had to relax.

"This is my house! I'll do whatever I want!" he retorted, still advancing on me. All the other children were following right behind him. I backed away, but did not avert my eyes.

"Just leave me alone!" I demanded.

"Okay, I'll leave you alone…" Roland shrugged. I was fortunate; I had just walked into the wall and had nowhere else to go. "…as soon as you take off your mask." He added. I wouldn't let him. He had no right!

"No." I felt my voice weakening. This was bad. I knew I had to think of something. I had tried to stand up against my foes and all that had done was gather them against me. Now I needed an idea. I had to trick them. I looked around desperately for something, _anything_ that could be of use. Nothing but useless toys. Who in the world needed so many toys? These were spoiled, shallow children. I knew they would never understand me, and I did not ask them to try. I just wanted to be left alone. Why couldn't they leave me alone? I wanted my mother!

"Just take off the stupid mask!" A taller boy said.

"C'mon, just a peek." Roland tried to grab my shoulder, almost reassuringly, but I smacked his hand away.

"No." I repeated, racking my brain for a plan.

"What are you afraid of?" he laughed. Everyone laughed. I _hate_ it when people laugh at me. I can't even tell you how much I _despise_ it. Furiously I tackled Roland, cutting off his infuriating laughter. All the other children backed away with a gasp. Taking advantage of the open space, I stood and ran.

There were thick velvet curtains over the windows of the playroom. I slipped behind one while everyone had their attention on Roland. Skillfully, I climbed up until I found the top of the window and sat atop it comfortably. Now, to deal with those who dared to invoke my wrath.

Roland had stood. He was terribly embarrassed about having a three year old tackle him so easily. "My mother told me why you wear that mask!" he yelled, searching for me all around. "It's because you're ugly under there! You're a freak!" The other children were tearing the room apart looking for me. I winced, seeing a pair of boys rip open a doll. Would they do the same to me if they found me? "Come on out monster-face!" Roland shouted. The other children picked up on this and began to chant. "Monster-face! Monster-face! Monster-face!" Soon the chant had developed and become more complex.

"_Monster-face had an ugly head! Whoever sees him now is dead!_" I shook my head. I knew my face wasn't attractive, I knew it wasn't normal. But my mother said it didn't matter! My mother said I was wonderful! She had seen me and she wasn't dead! She _loved_ me!

"_Monster-face with his cheeks eaten by flies! Don't look at him or you'll lose you eyes!_" Flies? What was this? Did they think I was some kind of corpse? Was I _that_ hideous? Was that why I had to wear a mask? Is that why even my mother insisted I wear my mask, even though she claimed she loved me?

She _claimed_ she loved me? What was I thinking? Of _course_ she loved me!

Didn't she?

Below me the chants were growing louder, faster, spinning around the room. I felt sick. Why were they doing this? Why was this happening to me? What had _I_ done? This had to stop. _They_ had to stop!

"Silence!" I boomed. The children looked up at my hiding spot. What had I done? I couldn't let them find me! I found the torn doll and threw my voice, just like the book said. "Feeble creatures you all are! Stupid, idiotic, pathetic! You have gone too far, and now it is too late for all of you! Only one of you will make it out of this room alive!" The children had screamed and huddled against the wall apposite the doll. I made the wall they leaned on chuckle and everyone dashed to the other side of the room. My voice followed. They ran for the door. The door yelled "Boo!" and the children scattered. They were like sheep.

"Monster-face!" Roland cried. Oh, still at that, was he? I sent my voice to his left ear, then his right, whispering the most horrible ways in which I could cause him pain. I would rip his knuckles, kick his shins, smash his elbows, cut his own face until it matched mine. Roland screamed and ran about the room, trying to escape the 'voices'. I pushed him relentlessly. I was so engrossed in punishing Roland that I didn't notice his brothers escape the room.

Then Aunt Isabelle had stormed in. She had taunted me, but I didn't care. She could say whatever she wanted. Words did nothing against me anymore. Not now that I had triumphed. But when she had _dared_ to touch my mother I had gone mad. No one would hurt her! Before I knew what I was doing, I had jumped down and pushed Aunt Isabelle down, lifting my mother to her feet. She was bewildered, I could tell. I had no choice but to trip my uncle and take her to father.

And as I sat under the library table, I realized that had been my mistake. I should've talked to my mother first. I should've asked her if she loved me, _really_ loved me. I hadn't. I had taken for granted that she loved me as I loved her. Then my father had deserted me, and she had done nothing to stop him!

I felt tears prick my eyes. My father didn't love me, but I wasn't surprised. Who would love me? I was bad. I was always causing problems. I didn't mean to! It just happened! Of course my mother wouldn't love me, _really_ love me! I had been such a fool. I was a monster, but not because of my face. I did terrible things. My father was right, I was damned.

I waited there, under the table, until no more sunlight shone through the windows. Day had turned to night. The library was probably closing. I was petrified at the thought of being locked in a strange place alone, but I was too scared of being seen to move. So I curled up on my side, using my cape as a blanket and my hat as a pillow. I wouldn't think about what I was going to do. Not yet. I was too tired. Tomorrow would be a new day. Tomorrow I would come up with a brilliant plan. Yes, tomorrow. Today—tonight I would go to sleep. I closed my eyes, summoning up memories of better nights. Perhaps I would see my mother in a dream. That would be nice.

Ahh... he loves Christine so much, even thought she's a beep! Will little Erik ever find his way home? Do we WANT him to? Will Christine grow some backbone? Will Raoul develop a brain... nah! Tun in next time to Mi padre, el Fop!


	9. Episode 8

Here's the second installment I promised!

This chapter switches between two people's POVs so dont get confused!

You can easily tell the difference between little Erik and Raoul. Wow, there is NO WAY this kid is his son...

But maybe I've said too much! (wink)

**Episode 8**

I woke up to the sound of someone yelling. It was an odd feeling, to wake up with someone yelling. Usually when people yell in my house it's because of something _I_ did. But I was sleeping, so I know I hadn't done anything.

Then it hit me. I wasn't home. I sat up, snatching my hat up off the floor and pulling it on my head. I did the same with my cloak. I was under a table. Now I remembered, the library. I brought my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. How was I going to get home?

The yelling continued. The voice was familiar. But the familiarity was not comforting. I peeked out from under the table and saw the girl from Aunt Isabelle's party, the one who had been wearing the periwinkle dress. The dress she wore now was simpler, less overstated, but her hair still held that oversized pink bow. What was wrong with her?

"I hate apples!" she shouted, throwing a perfectly red, ripe, aromatic fruit to the floor. My stomach growled and only then did I realize how hungry I was. "I won't eat it! I won't!" she stomped over to a shelf. "And I _hate_ books!" she ran her arm through the shelf, knocking several books to the ground. I flinched at the sound of one breaking its spine. "I want new shoes! Pretty red ones, like the lady at the corner had!"

"Sweetheart," her mother tried to coax her. "You can't have those shoes. They're vulgar, just like that woman. Now be good while your father picks out something to read."

"I _said_ I want them!" she shrieked. Her voice was like nails on a chalkboard. "Buy me those shoes! Now!" she grabbed a chair and flung it as far as she could, which wasn't very far at all. People were beginning to stare.

"No…" I whispered to myself. I didn't want anyone to see me!

"Alright, sweetie!" her mother was exasperated and ashamed. It was obvious that she was trying to quell her daughter's fit before she became an object of gossip. "I'll tell father to buy you glossy red shoes, just like that woman had." The girl in the pink bow harrumphed and stalked off. Her weedy mother followed.

Spoiled child. Rotten child. I _hated_ that girl. She was part of the reason I was here in the first place! How dare she almost get me caught? My eyes fell on the apple she had left and I ogled in ravenously. Would this really be my breakfast; a bruised little fruit, discarded by an obnoxious brat?

I checked to make sure no one was looking and snatched the apple up off the floor, bringing it under the table with me. After all, beggars can't be choosers. I wiped the apple with my gloves and shined it as nicely as I could. It wasn't such a bad little apple. Beside me a book had fallen. It was bent so badly that it hurt to look at it. Carefully I picked it up and straightened it. The cover was almost new and that girl had already damaged it? I growled and shined it as I had my apple.

"P…p…psss…eee…chow…low…gee. Ps…y…cho…lo…gy." I stopped. Something was familiar about this. When the letters 'P' and 'S' were together, sometimes the 'P' was silent. Also, the letters 'C' and 'H' made a 'CH' sound when they were put together. I reread the title. "Sai…cho…lo…gee." What in the world was that? I took a bite of my apple as I opened the book. I had no idea how I was going to get home, so I decided I might as well kill some time.

As I read the first page, I took another bite of the apple and found it to be rather delicious. Perhaps I did not hate that pink bow girl so much after all.

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Christine is still sitting by the door. Her eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot. Wait, are red-rimmed and bloodshot the same thing? I am not sure. They're both ugly though. It is a shame for my pretty wife to have her eyes look so unfitting. But I know why she is like this, and I think I might have made a mistake.

I was sure the boy would be back by now! We only left him two blocks from the house! But the whole night Christine waited and there was no sign of him. Good God, did that jar exact its revenge already?

"Christine…" I approach her softly. She looks up at me with wet eyes. They are so full of water, I wonder if I poke them if they will pop and water will spill all over me. I don't want to get my shirt wet, so I don't try this. "Lotte…" I reach to hold her, but she is stiff as I touch her.

"Where is he Raoul?" her voice is soft and tear clogged. I think of how her sinuses must be congested and how nasty that must feel. I back away slightly, just incase whatever she has is contagious.

"Christine…" I don't know what to say. How can I make her smile again? How can I make her back into her happy, beautiful self? I lost the boy… _our son_. "I'm sorry, I thought, I didn't know, I…" I try to finish, but her eyes are overflowing with water and this distracts me.

She holds her stomach, caressing it idly. Is she thinking about her weight at a time like this? Really, Christine! Can't you show some motherly concern? "He's in trouble Raoul, I can feel it." It doesn't take special feeling to know _that_, Christine.

"I'll find him." I say. It is all I can think to say to pull her out of this. Her face becomes so hopeful, it is almost unattractive.

"Raoul…"

I grab my coat and stuff my arms into the sleeves. This is my old coat and I am not happy about wearing the same set of clothing twice, but there's no time to get another one.

Outside the air is cold and damp. This humidity is no good for my hair! Curse you Christine; do you see what I do for you? But then again, the humidity prevents wrinkles and is excellent for my skin. Not that my skin could be improved more than it already is…

So I set off. Now, if I was Erik where would I go? I see a little crafts store. Yes, I would go there and buy sequins for my mask. I've told that boy a million times, your mask is so dull! Can't you do something to make it more interesting, perhaps even compliment your outfit? But he always wears black, so there is no point. I head off for the little crafts shop. Erik must be there. If he is my son, I _will_ find him there! Where else would he go? The bakery? The fabric shop? The _library_? Please! When it comes to de Chagnys, it takes one to know one.

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I received several strange stares as I snuck out of the library. I had to risk it. I couldn't spend another night in there.

The day was still new outside and it filled me with both hope and fear. I had a whole day to figure out my way home, but likewise I also had a whole day to get into serious trouble. Anything could happen to me. I was sickeningly vulnerable.

I came across a dark alley and stared down at it. I knew, under different circumstances, that such a place might be dangerous. But I was more at risk of being seen and someone removing my mask out in the light. At least in the alley I had an advantage. I had a strange sense of sight. I had discovered this only a few months ago, when I heard someone stumble through the dark outside my room. I rushed out and found my mother was out trying to get herself a glass of water, but she couldn't see where she was going in the dark. I told her I could see everything perfectly and she had almost fainted. She had explained to me that most people couldn't see in the dark. She had known only one other person who could see like a cat… She hadn't told me anymore, and I had not asked. It didn't matter who the person was, what mattered was that I was special.

Yes, in the alley I would see better than anyone else who came near. I would have the advantage, and I definitely needed an advantage to even the odds now. I crept in noiselessly.

There were not many people around, in fact I saw nobody at first. I kept walking and turned a corner. There I saw a most peculiar sight. There were women, several younger than my mother, very scantily clad, standing leaned against a brick wall. I was about to turn and shrink back into the shadows, until the smell of sugary sweet bread invaded my senses and made my stomach growl. One of these women was holding a bag of pastries. I was starving! After missing dinner last night and my meek breakfast this morning, I wasn't surprised. But was I hungry enough to approach perfect strangers?

The woman pulled out one of the pastries, which was smothered in what appeared to be raspberry jam, and took a long, drawn-out bite.

I was more than hungry enough to approach a perfect stranger!

"Excuse me?" I squeaked up, making my face as tender as I could. I knew young women especially tended to have a positive reaction to this.

"Aw, lookit 'ere Denna. The cus'mers just keeps gettin' young'r, don't they?"

These women reminded me of my father, but I wasn't sure why. Upon closer inspection I discovered the similarity; both they and my father were in the habit of wearing far too much make-up.

"Lessee here." The woman I now knew to be 'Denna' came to me and stared me down, but kept her expression soft. "So, how old are you?"

"Three…" I answered, looking down at my feet and fidgeting. The Psychology book I had read said that children in submissive poses tended to stir certain maternal feelings in women of age to bear children. Come to think of it, the book had said lots of things. Perhaps I could use it to my advantage.

"Aren't you the sweetest little thing?" She pinched my cheek. I didn't like it when people touched me, except my mother, especially on my face. I recoiled, but every so slightly. "Where's your Maman?" she said in a saccharine voice which made me raise an eyebrow.

"At home. I'm lost." All the women made 'aww' sounds and surrounded me. I felt like I was back in the playroom with those children. I didn't like it at all.

"Nice mask." One of the women said sarcastically. I covered my face. Just what I had been afraid of. I was such an idiot! How could I have let my stomach make my judgments?

"Youra cute li'l guy. Why dontcha takit off?" another woman tittered.

"Letus see ya cute li'l face!" The world was spinning. I felt the alley closing in around me. I had to get out! I couldn't let them…

"No!" I screamed, falling to the floor in a ball. "Leave me alone! Leave me alone! I want my Maman!"

"Hey, leave him alone!" Denna said, touching my shoulder gently. "Forgive us. In this business one tends to lose respect for privacy." I looked up at her. She held out a pastry. "Hmm?"

I nodded and took the tartlet. It was a bit stale but still sweet. I ate it voraciously in just two bites. The women 'awwed' again. I stood. "Thank you." I said, my vision catching something red at Denna's feet. She was wearing bright scarlet shoes. They seemed a bit vulgar to me but…

"_I want new _**shoes**_! Pretty _**red**_ ones, like the lady at the _**corner**_ had!" _

"_Sweetheart," her mother tried to coax her. "You can't have those shoes. They're _**vulgar**_, just like that _**woman**_. Now be good while your father picks out something to read."_

"_I said I want them!" she shrieked. Her voice was like nails on a chalkboard. "Buy me those shoes! Now!" she grabbed a chair and flung it as far as she could, which wasn't very far at all._

Could it be? They were vulgar red shoes. This woman was dressed improperly. We were standing at the corner of the street, right outside the alley.

I had an idea.

I grinned up at Denna mischievously. "I like your shoes."

"Why, thank you!" She slapped my back. I held back a glare. "I made them myself!"

I nodded and pulled up my pant legs, showing her my own shoes. "I'll trade you." She laughed. I can't _stand_ it when people laugh at me! "What's so funny?" My patience with these women was running thin.

"Those won't fit me!" I rolled my eyes. She was obviously not the brightest of women.

"No, but they'll fetch a pretty penny. Look, solid gold buckles!" For once I was glad my father had such extravagant tastes. The man had come in handy after all! Then again, this was _his_ punishment in the first place.

Denna's eyes widened greedily. "You'd trade _those_ for _this_ garbage?" I rubbed my chin thoughtfully.

"And another pastry." I was pretty hungry.

Denna shoved the bag of pastries in my hand and whipped out a small knife, cutting the buckles off my shoes. Seeing this, all the other women began fawning over me. Why was everyone so nice to me all of a sudden? Had I just woken up to a really good day?

Well as long as I was here…

I think I like Psychology.

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He wasn't in the hair salon either. Where in the world could he be? I've checked all the obvious places. I want to go home! I'm tired and hungry and irritable! And there seems to be quite a number of immoral mademoiselles working the streets today, making me terribly lusty. But Christine is being stubborn and whiny. Unfortunately, I am loyal to her. She is so lucky! I could so easily have any other woman I wanted! This thought seems very tempting as I see a group of trollops walk by wearing all sorts of interesting accessories. Hmm, these trollops have taste!

Wait, these trollops have _my_ taste! Those are _my_ pins and buttons! Or at least the same kind as mine!

It dawned on me.

They were Erik's.

Good lord! I had to get home! What was Christine going to say? No, I couldn't tell her the truth! She could never know! It would devastate her to know that the jar's minions have cast a spell on Erik, turning him into a jabbering whore!

I had to think up a lie, and quick!

Yes… the mafia…

Yes… yes… aliens…

No, aliens _and_ the mafia! Working in cahoots! Perfect!

Erik was abducted! She would believe it! She would believe anything! She was a woman, after all. I only hope this white lie of mine will buy me enough time to find which one of these fallen ladies is Erik, and how to reverse the enchantment!

Curse you jar… you haven't heard the last of me…

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I walked into the shoe store, limping from sore feet. I hadn't counted on being left completely shoeless but after fooling the tarts into trading more of their sweets for small articles of my clothing, I became greedy. All I had left was my shirt, my trousers, and my mask. Oh, and the red shoes. They really were crude shoes, but if this was what the pink bow girl wanted…

I prayed they would still be there. They had to be. It was my only hope!

A box flew up from the back of the store. They were still here.

"I don't _want_ any of these shoes!" the pink bow girl cried, tossing another box over her parents' heads. "I want shoes like the ones that lady had!" She whined and bounced about. Her parents fussed. It was the most comical scene I had ever seen, and that was saying a lot considering who I lived with!

The store owners were trying desperately to assist their overbearing little customer. I laughed and held up the red shoes. "How about these?"

The pink bow girl froze. She murmured to herself, "Mask face…" I scowled.

"My name is _not_ mask face!" I snapped. "And do you want these shoes or not? I went through an awful lot of trouble to get them for you." Her father came at me with a bag of francs.

"Name your price! Anything!"

"I don't want your money, sir." I said calmly. The pink bow girl began to whine for the shoes in my hand.

"Nonsense! Everyone has a price! Just name yours!" I shook my head. Money meant nothing to me.

"I only need one thing." I looked up at the man with a stony expression.

"Whatever he wants, just give it to him!" cried the pink bow girl's mother.

"What do you ask?" the man said, quite businesslike.

I sighed, and let the shoes hang at my sides. "Well, do you know the de Chagnys?"

"Of course!" the man said, urging me to finish this transaction so he could move on with his life.

"Do you know where they live?" The man gestured affirmatively and furrowed his brow. He didn't understand where I was going with this and it was bothering him. "I only ask that you drop me off in front of their home. Nothing more." The man stared for a while, looked back at his wife who shrugged, and then turned back to me apprehensively.

"A ride? That is all?" I nodded. "And you would rather have that than money?" Again, I nodded. Shaking his head and sighing, the man agreed. "It's only two or three blocks from here anyway."

We loaded the carriage, the pink bow girl insisting to sit beside me. Once we started moving, I noticed she began to creep closer to me. I looked out the window, trying to ignore her, but she tugged on my sleeve. "What?" I was more than just irritated.

She fluttered her eyelashes at me in a manner I did not understand. Her eyes were alit with a strange longing and she pursed her lips as she spoke. "Did you really go through a lot of trouble to get those shoes?" I frowned and nodded. It almost was true. I _had_ given up practically everything but the shirt on my back. "And you did it just for me?" she giggled. I wanted to tell her no, that I had done it strictly for myself, but I was scared that her father might become angry and throw me out. So I gulped and agreed again. The girl flushed such a crimson color that I feared something might be wrong. I reached out to her and she giggled again. "Oh, worrying about me! You're so sweet!" she giggled again. Her unexpected and unexplained giddiness was getting to me. "So…" she said, twiddling her thumbs and purposely avoiding my annoyed eyes. "What _is_ your name?" she began idly playing with her hair.

"Why do _you_ care? Weren't you fine with calling me mask face?" I hadn't meant to prompt a conversation. I was just so unused to dealing with other people, especially girls!

She pouted, and sniffled a false little sniffle. What an exceptional little actress she was! "Oh my dear, please don't pay me any mind. I can be such a lout at times!" I did not deny her self-accusation. She looked at me with false apology. I saw right through her act but did not call it out. "I just need someone to teach me. My parents are useless, as you can see." She moved her hands up my arms slowly, sending shivers up my spine. I didn't like it! I shoved her away. "Oh please! Can't we be friends? I know I could be good, if you helped me. I don't want to be bad." Her words struck a chord with me. I didn't want to be bad. I wanted to be good. But I couldn't… I didn't know how… No, she couldn't understand! She was acting! I had read something like this in that Psychology book! "My name is Stella…" she whispered into my ear. Her breath was hot against my skin.

The carriage stopped. I thrust open the door with all my might and fell into the street, racing away from Stella. "Goodbye!" She called after me. "Don't be a stranger!" I ran right up to my front door and heard her shout before her carriage took off. "I'll see you soon, my angel!" I shook my head, trying to catch my breath. I had never felt so itchy in all my life! I scratched and scratched, waiting for someone to let me in!

The door opened slowly. I looked up at the figure expecting to see our butler. The figure looked down at me. It was not our butler. In an instant I was in her arms. "Maman…" She planted kisses all over my face, bringing me inside without even bothering to ask what had happened to my clothes.

"Oh Erik! Are you alright?"

"Fine Maman," I said, feeling a bit odd. "In fact, I think I'm better than ever."

She withdrew from my side slightly, looking perplexed. "What do you mean?"

"Maman, I think I've found a new job for Meg." She was confused beyond words. I smiled and patted her dear little face. "Don't worry about it." I said with a smile. "For now, can I just have a bath?" She carried me upstairs, crying the entire way.

"Christine!" I heard my father cry victoriously as he came into the house. "I have successfully destroyed every jar within a six mile radius! Erik should be home any moment!"

"Raoul… he is home."

"… See? I told you!"

Review so I know you still want me to write this! Otherwise, you'll never know what happens and I'll keep it all to myself! MUAHAHA! I am so evil!


	10. Episode 9

Ahh! Sorry this took so long! It seems the world is against me writing! All of a sudden, everything that usually ignored me and I ignored back, suddenly demanded my attenion. Family, friends, school, they all remembered me and dragged me off!

But here I am! I had to stay up late to finish this chapter, so enjoy it! If my humor is a bit...weird, its probably due to lack of sleep. Review! Its all that keeps me from giving up!

And a clarification. I realize that Erik was only three in the last chapter and that makes his whole encounter with Stella quite odd. I was trying to show how shallow this girl was. She was simply doing what steroetypical lovers did, not because she really felt anything but because that was what she probably heard her mother gossiping about with her friends. She is just going with what society deems as "cool", get it? She's a very shallow girl who does not really feel much, but just goes along with what is socially glorified at the moment. And no, she is not Erik's cousin. She is a friend of the family, which I shall explain here just incase you forget. Alright, on with the show!

**Episode 9**

Were streamers really all that important? Obviously Raoul thought so, as he went out of his way to make sure every downstairs room in the house was covered in them. It was all rather ridiculous, and made it very difficult to get around anywhere in the sea of paper and fabric, but at least Raoul had taken interest in trying to please Erik.

The cake was ready and beautiful. I had specifically instructed, much to Raoul's disappointment, that no pink icing be used to top the cake. Lately Erik had shown such animosity towards the color, which had finally reached its climax one day when I found all my pink ribbons thrown into a washbasin. Erik had insisted that it hadn't been his doing, that the ribbons had fallen in and drowned themselves by accident. I tried to explain to him that inanimate objects were not alive and thus could not die, but he fixed me with a swift and certain "How do you know?" and bounded off. After that I stopped wearing anything in my hair for a while, simply out of fear that my clips would sprout teeth and bite me.

Whatever had stirred the sudden hate for pink ribbons in Erik, I did not know. Truthfully I was too frightened to ask. Raoul had not noticed anything unusual, except for the fact that I started locking my jewelry box at night and warning my charms that I would drown them should they try anything while I slept.

But that didn't matter. It was Erik's fourth birthday and a time for celebrating, not fretting.

"Raoul?" I went, with some effort as my legs kept becoming tangled in the rainbow strips of cloth, into the study to find him. He looked up from a box which he was staring at in the most adorable mystified manner. "What is it?" I asked as I approached him. "Is the furniture speaking again?" he shook his head and looked up at me sadly.

"Oh, Christine. I don't know what to get him! I can't ask him; that will spoil the surprise. But I have no idea as to what he could want. We've given him everything _I_ could ever want at his age. I even went so far as to consider giving him one of my old pistols…" I screamed and stated that he should not, under _any_ circumstances, give Erik firearms to play with. Raoul shrugged. It didn't really matter to him. He just didn't want to be outdone by any of the guests.

Speaking of which, I had tried to ask Raoul if we could hold a private celebration, wanting to avoid any trouble like at Isabelle's party. Raoul had refused, insisting that de Chagny parties were always the talk of the town for weeks to come. I had insisted until finally he had agreed to invite _only_ family. The exception had been Meg and Madame Giry, who Erik had personally requested attend.

"Raoul," I said, an idea coming to me. "I know something he would like. Something wonderful. I'm sure it will be his favorite gift of all time." Raoul pondered the idea for a moment,

"I don't know. The greatest gift of all time will be difficult to top next year." Finally he conceded. "What is it?" I whispered into his ear and watched as a flurry of mixed emotions danced across his perfect face. "What? B-but, Christine! You know I can't… what if he… what will people say?" I gave him the most sincere smile of reassurance I could, and watched as his shoulders slumped in defeat. "Fine, but only if you will forgive me for that thoughtless punishment I gave Erik." He left before I could answer him.

I covered my mouth to swallow back any threatening sobs. "Oh Raoul, it is not me you should be apologizing to…" If only I had the courage to actually _tell_ him that.

"Wait! Christine!" Raoul said with urgency as he came racing back in. "How will I fit such a gift into this?" he held up the box he had been staring into earlier. I pat his cheek, pitying his deprived, meager mind but loving him so much for trying.

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They weren't here yet. I paced about my room, my hands folded behind my back. Already guests had begun to arrive. Only a few, but they were still the wrong guests! I dashed out into the hallway stealthily, standing behind the stairway's handrail, and looked down at the room below. They still weren't here.

Alamoda walked right by but did not see me. I blended in perfectly with the shadows. Sometimes I thought I was born of them, though that is absurd as I am obviously my mother's son. Where were my guests? I wanted some answers and I decided that she would be the one to give them to me.

I strode out from the corner and stepped in front of her as she passed by again. The poor, flighty little thing jumped a meter into the air, figuratively of course. "W-what do you want, Master Erik?" I smirked at the sound of her stutter. So they were calling me _master_ now? Unfortunate Alamoda was by far my favorite servant in the household, simply for the reason that she was the youngest and thus was most often assigned to care for me, giving me the opportunity to terrify her in ways I could not the others. I did not do this to torment her; I found no delight and perhaps even hurt in knowing that the hired help feared me. Rather, I found I preferred being feared to being mistreated. It pleased me to see her cower, confirming my efficiency. I suppose then, in an ironically masochistic way, I _did_ enjoy watching her blanch at the sight of me.

"Where are my guests?" I said coldly. She did not answer. I could see her panicking at her own lack of an answer. "Meg and Madame Giry!" I pressed. "Did I not instruct you to send them personal invitations on my part?"

"Yes, Master Erik! Yes!" she nodded frantically.

"And?" no reply. "Why aren't they here?" I instinctively reached for my lasso. "I do hope you're not lying to me, Alamoda…" I said, suddenly calm. "You may find it does not agree with your health." She screamed and fled down the stairs, tears of fright streaming behind her. I felt horribly guilty at the sight of her tears. She really had done nothing to provoke me this time. And out of all the help, the poor woman was perhaps the most benevolent. She never gossiped about me when she thought I wasn't listening. If anything, the squeamish girl avoided me at all costs. A few rare times she had even tried to be somewhat amiable, though her attempts always led to disaster.

Why was I so bad? I could've asked, should've just asked nicely. I'm sure she would've told me why they were not here yet. They were probably just going to be a bit late because of Madame Giry's illness. Yes, she would've told me that had I asked nicely, like a good little boy.

But I knew I was not a good little boy, and I hated myself for it. With a sigh and a swirl of my cape I retreated back to my room, my private sanctuary, my self-imposed prison.

I did not sit for very long before I heard more guests arriving. I hurried out to see who was there, almost running into Alamoda who had gone back to changing the washroom towels as she had been before I frightened her off. The mousy maid squealed and stuttered out something along the lines of an apology. I waved her away and returned to my hiding spot atop the staircase, watching.

A couple I knew all too well entered, pink-bowed Stella bouncing in haughtily behind them. Stars above, why?

"Monsieur and Madame Beaucanon!" My mother greeted them, genuinely surprised. "How nice to see you! If you would excuse us a moment?" She then turned to my father and pulled him away to speak with him privately. "I thought we agreed to only invite family!" her voice was intended to be harsh, but came out more as a plea.

My father shrugged. "_I_ didn't invite them. I suppose they must've heard about the party and invited themselves. Besides, what harm does it do? The Beaucanons are long-time friends with the de Chagnys. They're _almost_ like family, just like Meg and Madame Giry are to you."

"Pardon," chimed in Monsieur Beaucanon, "we do not mean to be a bother. You see, our little Stella insisted we come. We tried to tell her that we did not receive an invitation, but she simply cannot stop talking about your son!"

Madame Beaucanon whispered to my mother, "She seems quite smitten with him." and giggled. I tightened my grip on the handrail intensely. _No, Maman! Send them away! I don't want them here._ I thought desperately.

My mother seemed to ponder for a moment but then, much to my dismay, led them in.

Immediately my father took it upon himself to show them around the house, pointing out the finer, more expensive items in each room. The distracted simpletons did not even notice their daughter stray away from them.

Curiously Stella began her own tour of the house, whispering "Mask Face?" every now and then. I followed closely behind her, making sure to keep myself cleverly hidden. I could not describe what I felt around this girl. I could've just avoided her or gone down and asked my mother to send them away. But somehow I could not. A few times I tried to head back to my room, but I found I could only move so far from Stella before I was running back to spy on her. Why? The girl disgusted and irritated me beyond all else! Her mere presence filled me with so much rage that I began to _physically_ ache!

Yet when I was away from her all I could think about was going back. All I _wanted_ was to go back. I wanted to reach out, to tell her I was here, and yet the thought of her even _looking_ at me made me feel unclean. She was spoiled! I hated her! She revolted me!

I could think of nothing else to do but carry on as I was. I followed her into every room, watching her intently as she searched under beds and in cabinets for me. I resisted the urge to wrench off her bow and rip it to shreds.

Then she reached my room. She looked at the words engraved in my door:

_Do not enter! Knock._

She tilted her head to the side and shrugged. The damn girl probably did not know how to read! I cursed her ignorance as she reached up on her tip-toes to grab the knob.

Quick as a flash I was standing between her and the door. She gasped at my sudden appearance but then smiled, her eyes lighting up. "I found you!" She seemed so proud.

"No." I corrected, grabbing her arm roughly and leading her away from the door. "_I_ found _you_." I released her and watched in satisfaction as she rubbed away the pain where I had so firmly gripped her.

She looked up at me indignantly and scoffed. I chose to ignore her reaction. I would've so preferred to see her cry. But the girl recovered quickly and suddenly smiled again. "Happy birthday, Mask Face!" I felt my upper-lip twitch and I reached once again for my lasso.

"Don't call me that!" I stomped my foot for added emphasis. "How would _you_ like it if I called you _stupid girl who can't read_?" The blush on her cheeks betrayed her embarrassment, though her expression remained egotistical.

"Well, what else am I supposed to call you? I told you my name. You wouldn't give me yours. So you see, it's all your own fault really." She tossed her hair importantly. I felt a sudden desire to tie the lasso around her neck and choke the conceited little words right out of her.

"I have a name!" Downstairs I heard familiar voices enter the house. Meg had arrived. I bowed formally and moved away. "Now if you'll excuse me, _mademoiselle_, I have other matters to attend to." She stood there, dumbfounded by my dismissal, until I had reached the last step on the stairwell.

"Wait! Don't _leave_ me! I'm your guest!" She lifted her skirts and began chasing after me. I ignored her completely and briskly made my way over to my _wanted_ guests.

Madame Giry seemed to be doing much better and was actually managing to walk quite well on her own. If not for a slight limp and her pale complexion, one would not have noticed anything wrong with her at all. I approached her modestly; awed by the humbling abilities Madame Giry's very aura seemed to possess. I politely pressed a kiss to her hand and thanked her for coming. She graced me with a smile and patted my head. "You have been good, Erik?" I nodded halfheartedly, not sure whether or not my recent behavior could be judged as being necessarily _bad_.

Meg stood behind her mother, playing nervously with her skirts. I felt a tremendous joy bubble up inside of me at the sight of her, though I was completely ignorant as to why. I paid it no mind and let my happiness show in the form of a large, lopsided grin. She saw me at once and gave me a thin smile.

"I am pleased to see you made it." I said, trying but failing miserably at hiding the extreme delight in my voice.

"I am pleased to have pleased you." She gave a laugh and handed me a small package wrapped in newspaper. "I know it isn't much, but I thought you'd enjoy them." I unwrapped the parcel and found three old but promising books. "Happy birthday." She said, motioning to embrace me but hesitating.

"Thank you, truly." I could not think of a better gift. Seeing her arms outstretched and seeking permission, I plunged headfirst into her hug. Surprised, she faltered and almost fell. Even as she regained her balance she laughed. I released her, unable to even attempt to hide my delight any longer. "I am pleased to see pleasing me pleases you." She stared for a moment, a comical expression on her face, but then laughed again.

I took her hand and begun leading her away to a more private area of the house. I had plans in which Meg played an integral role as my assistant, but I preferred they not be spoken in public… not yet.

I had not made it three steps before Stella stood before me, her hands balled up into tiny fists at her sides. "And who is this?" she hissed, pointing at Meg accusingly.

"This is my guest, Meg Giry. Not that it's any of your concern." My response only angered her further.

"I didn't know your family associated with _common_ folk." She said bitterly. Meg stiffened behind me; I knew Stella's idiotic comment had wounded her. I was not going to stand for this. There was only one thing to do…

I reached out and pulled on Stella's hair, hearing her whine for me to release her. Once I let go, I grabbed Meg by the hand and pulled her up the stairs. "Run!" I called back, hearing Stella tearfully giving chase.

I pushed Meg into my room, locking the door behind us. I could hear Stella shrieking and banging on the door on the other side, but I pretended I couldn't.

Meg looked around her fearfully. I realized, too late, that the black on black on black motif I had chosen for my room could be a bit… daunting at best. "Don't move!" I warned her. 'I have traps; wait for me to disarm them." I went around the room, moving anything hazardous out of the way, and turned back to Meg. Her eyes were filled with panic. Downstairs we could hear laughter and chatting. The party had begun.

"_Why have you brought me here_?" she demanded, singing.

"_We can't go back there_!" I said gruffly, turning away with a swoosh of my cape.

"_We must return to the party_!" she insisted.

"_She'll catch me_!" I retorted, rounding on her. "_Her eyes will find us there! Those stubborn eyes_!" Meg cocked her head, not understanding. "_And if she has to rip a thousand bows! Stella the pink bow girl will grab me and not let go_!"

Meg smirked in a most unladylike manner. "_I think someone has a crush on you_..."

I just then realized that we had inexplicably begun to sing, still I continued. "_My god, what's wrong with her?"_

"_My god, what's wrong with her?"_

_"She won't go away!"_

_"She thinks you're cute!"_

_"I wish she'd leave me alone!"_

_"If you were older you'd probably like her back."_

_"She's ruined my day!"_

_"I bet you already do!"_

Our voices rose in perfect unison. "_And in the de Chagny manor, where parties are grand! Stella, the pink bow girl will brag again and again!"_

"_Sounds like someone's got a girlfriend…" _Meg teased. By now I had fully grasped just how _weird _it was that we randomly started singing, and that we both knew not only the tune but the words as well! I was shaken, and furious at Stella who had grown silent but who I knew was listening in on us.

"_Meg, I've been there! To her world of getting everything she wants! To her world where her parents can deny her nothing…nothing…"_ I stared into the blackness of my walls, remembering that day at the library and then shoe store._ "Meg, I've seen her! Can I ever escape that sight? Can I ever escape from that bow? So huge and so pink… it overwhelmed her clothes! She has no fashion sense…. No fashion sense…" _Downstairs I heard my father scream, as if he had sensed me comment on one of his guests not knowing how to dress.

Meg tried to approach me, she seemed to have finally caught on to the fact that we were singing. Still, I did not stop. _"But her voice ran up my spine, like nails on a chalkboard. The next night I had to drown Maman's ribbons… In my dreams her bows haunted me with their pinky frills!" _I took a breath. _"The thought of her gives me the chills…"_

"_Yeah, I guess that the pink bow is fashion overkill."_

"_Yet on her feet, she wears the shoes I got… She proudly wears the shoes, which for I so valiantly fought…"_

"_Erik…Erik…" _Meg touched my shoulder comfortingly.

Stella began to pound on the door again, shrieking. "Mask Face!" Not exactly an echo of Meg's words but… Of course I had no idea how I _knew_ it was supposed to be an echo.

This had to stop. Just as Meg began to mouth the words "No more talk of pink bows…" I covered her mouth and shook my head.

"Meg, listen to me. I need you to fetch me something." She nodded and begun to leave. "No, not now. You don't even know what I want!" She stopped, crossing her arms. "Listen, next time you pass by the library, could you get a specific type of book for me?"

She uncrossed her arms and brought a hand to her chin, thinking. "I suppose so. What kind of book did you have in mind?" I knew my request would earn a strange look from her, but I would not allow myself to be deterred.

"I want a romance novel."

She stared, opened her mouth to say something, stopped, put her finger up signaling for me to give her a minute, then opened her mouth again, stopped, put her finger up, and so on. Finally she nodded to herself and decided on which reaction to settle for. She laughed her pretty little head off. "A… romance… novel?" she choked out between guffaws. Her mirth was so great that she collapsed into a chair.

I _hate_ it when people laugh at me. I quietly pulled a lever, causing the chair she sat on to sprout metal cuffs which bound her. She looked up at me in shock, her mirth of only moments ago evaporating completely. "Yes." I said, nonchalantly. "I want a romance novel. Not because I find anything particularly _interesting_ in the genre. The reason is I simply want to try and understand girls." I shrugged. "Isn't romance what you read most?" Meg shook her head.

"Well, perhaps. Not all women, there are always exceptions. But Erik, reading a book will _not_ help you understand women." She chuckled. "Nothing can help a man understand women. It's just the way of things."

I was in no mood to have my theory shot down. I stalked over, pulling a stool to stand on so I could tower over her. "Your job is not to question, dear Meg!" I took her chin in my hand, forcing her to look me straight in the eyes. "Your job is to do what I say. Didn't I make that clear on your first visit?" I could see the fear in her eyes and I felt disgusted with myself. Would I never behave well?

"Yes, Erik." She said, suddenly defiant. "I shall fetch your book, but _not_ because you _ordered_ me to do so." She tugged at the cuffs, which I opened. "I shall do it because you are my _friend_ and I _care_ for you!" She rubbed at her wrists. I sighed and jumped off the stool. I didn't want to play this game, not right now.

"We had best join the party. The guests will be looking for their host." I said with a look that told her not to point out how I had conveniently changed the subject.

"Mhm, wouldn't want to keep Stella waiting." She poked my ribs playfully. I scowled.

"We had best find something to distract her with, then." I smiled, hatching the perfect plan. "Mademoiselle, if you wouldn't mind?" I picked up a rag doll and gestured for her to hold it.

"What are you thinking?" she raised a suspicious eyebrow.

"I'm thinking that its time I live up to this 'Phantom of the Opera' you say I resemble." I laughed wryly at the inside joke. Meg only stared in confusion. No matter, she would understand soon enough.

"Erik?" she asked, puzzled.

"It's alright Meg. You will see what I mean in a second." She shook her head.

"No, I mean… why do you have dolls?"

I blushed under my mask. "They were my father's."

Uh oh! What is Erik planning? How does the rag doll figure into it? How is he going to live up to the Phantom? Why was Meg singing a parodied version of "WHYBMH"? And why does Stella wear that horrendoue pink bow? All to be answered soon on My Father, the Fop!


	11. Episode 10

**GGChalengeEverything:** Twiny! You joined fanfiction! Yay! Now I hafta write more often I guess, now that you're here to inspire me... Everyone cheer!

**Misty Breyer: **What do you mean he should show up? SHUSH! You're giving away my plot twists! I guess great minds think alike. (Erik: What do you mean great?) Silence you!

And thank you to all my other wonderful reviewers! I'd thank you all but I should be getting ready for school! Ahh! I'm gonna be late! All to get this chappie up earlier...

And to everyone on my favorites... UPDATE! Plz?

Okay, ontu My Father, the Fop!

**Episode 10**

It was perhaps the most refined and snobbish sight I had ever seen; a house full of de Chagnys. Naturally, Raoul felt right at home… in his home. I stood by his side; shifting uncomfortably and trying to make an ever-present smile appear as genuine as possible.

Where was Erik? The cake was here and we were ready to end this. I tried to send Alamoda to fetch him, but the girl paled considerably and begged me to send someone else. Really, her reaction was a puzzling one. Erik might be strange, but he was only a child.

Meg rushed into the room. I caught sight of her through the crowd. She looked quite flustered and uncomfortable. Poor girl, who could blame her? I made my way to her and greeted her with a smile. She seemed extremely relived to see me.

"Christine, we have to end this party." I thought she was joking, so I laughed. But her expression remained troubled and I realized she was being serious.

"End it? But… _why_? It only just begun and Erik hasn't even come down yet!" She shook her head and took my hands in hers. She was shaking.

"Christine! Please, you have to listen to me. If you don't stop this, Erik will die!" What in the world was she saying? My son? My _baby_? Why was he going to die? How? A thousand questions ran through my head yet all I managed to get out was a small "_Pardon_?" Meg tried to say something, but I couldn't hear. The music was too loud, all around us people were chortling and gossiping. The sound of pouring wine pierced my ears. She mouthed her words, but I could hear nothing but noise; unintelligible, garbled noise! Oh dear Lord, the room was spinning. I held my abdomen and grabbed onto Meg to prevent myself from falling.

The lights flickered and died down. The music faded with it as the musicians looked around in confusion. No, not again. Dear god, please!

"Messieurs, I bid you welcome!" came a voice, cutting through the silence, reverberating off the walls all around me. Erik had come down to his own party… "I do feel quite flattered, seeing so many of you come out to celebrate _my_ birth. Oh, how I hate to be the bearer of bad news!" No one made a sound. No one dared! "Unfortunately, I must inform you that this house is haunted and that we will all die here… unless of course, you escape in time." We looked all around us, where was the voice coming from? "You see, you will all be hung one by one, starting on the hour. If you make it out of the house before your turn comes, then you have won the game and are free to live. But if you lose…" the clock struck four, their bells chiming all around us like maddening sirens thirsty for blood! "Behold!" Erik cried. "It has begun!"

From a lamp up on the ceiling, in the very center of the room, a petite form fell limply, hanging from a noose. Screams now filled the air and I felt my own voice joining them as I recognized the victim. The black attire, the crude cape, the white half-mask… Erik was dead.

"I told you!" Meg's shrieks rose above the screams like an opera singer among music. A stampede of aristocrats trampled over one another, each trying to claw their way out first. Their footsteps resounded in my ears like thunder. I clung tight to Meg, even after all the guests had fled and the body fell to the floor.

"My son!" Raoul cried, sliding down on his knees and cradling the flaccid form. "My heir! Why?" As he cried the fedora slid off the body, revealing a head of red yarn. Raoul saw this but did not react. He simply continued to cry and squeeze the rag doll to his chest, lamenting his neglect. Meg tapped his shoulder softly and tried to point out the _real_ Erik, who had sauntered in looking quite pleased with his handiwork. Raoul pushed her away, running right past Erik and out of the room, still clutching the rag doll urgently.

"Erik…" I called to him, suddenly feeling exhausted. "What have you done?" He smiled at me pompously.

"I never wanted so many people here. I do prefer a private celebration. Just you, father, Madame Giry, and Meg suits me fine." He gestured to the lamp from where he had dropped the rag doll disguised as himself. "I had to rid myself of the unwanted invitees but I couldn't just send them away, now could I? That would be rude!" His logic was so warped! I lowered my face into my hands, falling to my knees, and cried.

"I'm so sorry…" Meg sniffled behind me, her eyes downcast. "I had to. I had no choice. He does not take well to being questioned." I could hear her sink to the floor beside me.

"Maman?" his voice was sincerely confused. "What's wrong? Don't you like things better this way?" I felt his tiny hands pull my own away from my face. He was crying too now. "I'm sorry, I didn't know what I did was bad. I thought… I thought I was being good! I thought I was being clever! Scaring your guests away is much nicer than telling them they're unwanted and ordering them to leave, isn't it?" Oh my son! His brilliant, twisted mind! I pulled him to my chest and cried again, this time for him. Would he never understand other people? Would he be condemned to live alone, not because of his face but because of his madness?

I stiffened. Madness? My son was mad? I looked down at his little face and he gave me a heartfelt little smile. Yes, my son was undeniably mad. But perhaps in time, with love, could I fix that? He became completely sane when he was with me.

But even then, who would hold him when I was gone? Once I could no longer love and comfort him, who would keep him sane? No woman would marry him. No one would take the time to look past his horrendous face and see his beautiful soul!

_Stella…_

Yes, the Beaucanon girl! She was fond of him, wasn't she? Perhaps, if they spent time together now as children, she would love him when they matured. Yes, when they were adults she would still love him. His face wouldn't matter, not once she had known his spirit for so long. She was his only hope! I would have to bring her here more often.

I caressed his face, looking up at me with all the adoration in the world. Well, he hadn't hurt anyone. He _was_ good, despite his uniqueness. He was beautiful.

A few servants cleared the table and served the cake. Madame Giry, Meg, Erik, and I sat to watch the birthday boy blow out his candles. He was reluctant to do so; he sure had an affinity with fire.

With some effort we managed to coax Raoul out of his room and down to the sitting room to open presents. The entire time he sat alone on the chaise, clutching the rag doll protectively. A few times we tried to pry the doll out of his grasp, but he defended his claims on it by throwing hairpins and other small miscellaneous objects in our general direction. Finally we decided it was not worth the effort and went along with the gift-opening.

Erik opened a few of the other guests presents, not really even looking at them, and tossing them aside. It wasn't that he was ungrateful; he simply did not wish to encourage these people to associate with him, even to give him gifts.

Madame Giry and Meg had already given Erik their present, which he pulled out to show me with pride. Books! At least someone had managed to please him. I hoped my present would not disappoint.

I directed Erik to the large structure sitting in the middle of the room, which I was actually shocked no one had noticed earlier. It had been far too large to wrap so instead it had a vivid sheet covering it. With tremulous excitement, Erik pulled the sheet off in one fluid movement. Gasps of awe floated in the still air.

Erik looked up at me in confusion asking what it was, which prompted Raoul to cry out "Sometimes I swear I can still hear him!" which in turn caused Madame Giry to nudge the distracting doll out of his grasp with her cane. Once Raoul recovered from a blubbering mass back to a normal human being, he looked as if he had lost something. But lacking enough brain cells as required for short-term memory, he forgot and turned his attentions to the gift we had purchased for our son.

"It's a piano, Erik." I said warmly. "It makes music." He looked stared in wonder at the gorgeous instrument before him, unsure of what to do. "Go on." I said sweetly, giving him a push of encouragement. He approached the grand piano tentatively, barely brushing his fingertips on the keys. "Erik, press." I said softly. He held in his breath as he added pressure and released it as a tuned, precious note filled and colored the atmosphere.

Meg and I applauded him, cheering for more. Madame Giry shushed us, insisting that we not 'patronize' him.

At first he seemed timid, but soon Erik had pressed every single one of the ivory keys and moved on to the ebony ones. It did not take long for his fascination to become passion. Soon he had gone over the scale twice and stretched his short little fingers over the keys.

Nothing much at first, just simple scales and arpeggios.

Then…

Music! The melodies were simple, yet he did not miss a note. My son, the prodigy! I moved to stand beside him. Suddenly I felt my throat vibrating and I found myself singing, merely out of habit. Erik heard me and joined, his voice beautiful! I had never heard Erik sing, perhaps hum a few times to himself, but never truly sing. His voice, white and pure due to his youth, rang as clear as crystal. I felt tears prick my eyes as I recognized the inflections in his voice…

"Oh Christine!" Raoul cried as our duet ended, snapping me out of my revere. "He has your voice!" Of course Raoul had not heard it, how could he? He did not have the ear of a musician, did not possess the desire for music that my angel and I had shared.

"No Monsieur," Madame Giry corrected, her tone forewarning. "I believe his voice is more of an _angel's_." I caught her meaning and stiffened.

Fortunately Raoul, as always, was oblivious. "Indeed, Madame Giry! The voice of an angel!" Madame Giry frowned.

"An angel of _music_." I knew what she was hinting at. My fists tightened. Why was she doing this? Was she _trying_ to stir suspicion in Raoul? Did she _want_ him to accuse me of adultery?

"Well, what other sort of angel would he be?" Raoul laughed good-naturedly, still as unaware as ever, and embraced me. He kissed my cheek, nipping at my earlobe playfully, and then turned to Erik. "How do you like it?" Erik had not moved. He seemed lost amid his thoughts, his head rocking slowly back and forth as if the music had never ceased. "Erik! How do you like it!" Raoul repeated, louder this time.

Erik stilled and slowly turned to face us. His eyes slid open so slowly that one would think he was being resuscitated from the dead. He pondered his words for a moment before parting his lips with equal nerve-wracking sluggishness and spoke. "It is… perfection." He sighed, contented, and jumped off the bench. "Thank you. It pleases me." I smiled through my tears and held him. How could I have forgotten the feelings, those of near ecstasy, which music brought me? Thank the heavens for sending him to me, my son _was_ an angel! He had returned my music to me! He had given me back my soul! I clutched him so tightly, wondering if I held him strongly enough if the warmth of my body would somehow reach his former life. Would my angel of music feel my love now? Would he know just how amazing and, yes, _beautiful_ he was?

I was brought out of my epiphany by the sound of a very giddy Raoul chanting, "Me next! Me next!" He slammed himself down on the bench and banged at the keys. Erik stared in absolute horror. I could feel his bafflement. How could something which had moment ago created such harmonious bliss now create such tremendous, ear-splitting racket?

"Raoul," I said, trying to keep my voice sweet behind clench teeth, "perhaps we should let _Erik_ play with his new gift, hmm?" Raoul protested, whining that _he_ wanted to play with the 'music-maker-box'. "But we bought it for _Erik_, remember? Not for Raoul." He crossed his arms and stomped out of the room, finding the rag doll on the way and scooping it up under his arm to take with him.

A brief silence. And then:

"My piano!" Erik rushed over and caressed the ivories as if he could cleanse them of their misuse.

"It's alright Erik, no harm done." He nodded his head but refused to move.

"Let him be. He needs time alone with his music." Madame Giry said, Meg helping her to stand. "He is so much like his…" she trailed off, seeing me tense once more.

"Like his mother!" Meg said excitedly. I couldn't tell if she really thought that was what her mother meant, or if she was sparing me the embarrassing and painful experience of having to explain that Erik could not be my angel's son because we had never… loved. Well, except through our music, but one could hardly conceive in such a way!

Meg and Madame Giry politely dismissed themselves. I was sad to see them go and yet I felt so much safer away from criticizing eyes, even those of my adoptive family.

I closed the door and leaned my forehead against the doorframe, letting out a sigh. I turned and saw Raoul at the top of the stairs, still holding the rag doll. I gave him a smile, he replied by sticking his tongue out at me and retreating to our bedroom.

"Erik?" I called from where I stood. "I'm going to go talk to your father, then we'll all go out together and have our own celebration!"

"Oh, yes!" he sounded thrilled. Now for the hard part.

I dragged myself up the stairs. The room was locked. "Raoul?" I knocked gently.

"No girls allowed! Right Erik?" He squeezed the rag doll which gave out a squeak-squeak of assent.

"Raoul, please…" Was he jealous, or did he really have no idea that the boy I was so _enamored_ with was his son?

From downstairs a light melody of rejoicing reached me. Erik was happy. I suppose pleasing both men in my life at once was not a plausible goal. "Raoul…" I rapped on the door again. "I love you." The door flung open so suddenly that it almost smashed my face in.

"And I you, Lotte!" Raoul said with excitement. "But you must learn to obey your husband, especially now that we're both grieving for our lost child, and that no matter how fair your skin, how sparkly your eyes, how succulent your lips… how curvaceous your body… how… luscious… your… locks… how… full… your… where was I going with this?" I had a witty remark, I swear I did! It's just, the unexpected splash of water underneath me interrupted everything.

"Raoul!" I cried, terrified.

"Oh, really Christine! On the carpet?" He rolled his eyes and called a maid.

"No Raoul! It's our child!"

"Don't try to pass the blame. I just _saw_ you. I'm not angry, I just don't like it when you make excuses-" I cut him off and grabbed him by his lapel, shocked by my own audacity.

"Listen, you infuriating man! I am having _your child_! Right now!"

"What?" Raoul was confused. Good god, he is useless when he is confused!

"I am having our baby! The one we've worked so hard to keep healthy!" a blank stare. "Lord, Raoul! We've gone to the doctor every month!"

"I know you are trying to say something Christine. Just say it. There's no use in talking in riddles." I narrowed my eyes and shook him violently.

"What bloody riddles? I am being pretty damn direct!" Being a lady I know I would've never spoken like this. But the good Doctor Ess CharGoe assured me, however, that it was not unusual for women to act completely out of character while in labor.

The maid Raoul had summoned arrived. "Help me, Crossianta!" I shouted. She panicked and snatched Raoul away from me.

"Yes Madame." She proceeded in choking Raoul as I had been trying to do.

"No, not with that! Babarbuo!" The willowy butler was at my side immediately. "_You_ choke Raoul!" I turned back to Crossianta. "_You_ help me to my bed and fetch the doctor!"

"Yes Madame!" they chimed in unison and proceeded to do as they were told. Raoul stood there, waiting impatiently for Babarbuo to start choking him before even trying to complain.

I lay on my bed, breathing slowly and deeply in an attempt to stall the contractions. Where was the doctor? Where was Raoul? Outside the room I heard a thud.

"He has passed out, Madame." Babarbuo entered, looking sheepish. "Should I continue?"

I thought for a moment. "What color is he?"

The butler poked his head outside the door the check and then turned back to me. "Light violet with a hint of beige, I believe." I shrugged.

"Fair enough. Just make sure Crossianta is fetching the doctor!" He rushed out to do as I asked. Not too long after, another familiar face entered the room; his face lined with worry.

"Maman?" I must've looked terrible, because at the sight of me he gasped and jumped into the bed beside me, pressing his little face into my chest. "What's wrong? Maman! Are you ill?" I shook my head, still fighting to keep my breathing steady. I wanted to explain to him that I was fine, that he would soon have a bouncing baby brother or sister, but my labored respiration would not allow for me to speak.

But despite his fear, Erik did not flee. He stayed beside me, holding me, singing to me, comforting me. Oh my brave, adoring son! Everything was fine! If only I could tell him, if only Raoul would get his posterior in here!

He waltzed right in, right on cue. "Christine?" He came to sit beside me, shoving Erik aside, though not roughly. "What is it? What's wrong?" Erik glared and I saw him reach for a familiar area beneath his cloak. _No Erik, I think Raoul has been strangled enough for one day._

"Raoul… I'm… giving… birth…" I managed to wheeze out. Erik cocked his head curiously. Raoul's vacant expression did not waver.

"Christine, what is it? Just speak to me!" I rolled my eyes and took a deep, shaky breath.

"I… am… having… a… baby…" Was that a flicker of understanding in his eyes? No, false alarm. There was a fly in the room which had caused him to blink.

"Oh my little Lotte. What are you trying to say?" Doctor Ess CharGoe charged in, so rapidly that Raoul jumped to his feet with a yelp.

"Hurry!" He ordered Filet and Minion to fetch him the necessary items. "She is having the baby!" Raoul's eyes widened.

"Having the baby?" He rounded on me. "Christine! Why didn't you tell me?" If I hadn't been in excruciating pain, I would've reached for his lapels again.

Erik was pushed out of the room. He protested furiously, but was ignored. Children weren't allowed to be present for such procedures. Most of the time neither was the father. In fact, the father in question was thrown out alongside his son only a second after.

"What's going on in there?" Erik was trying not to cry, I could hear the waver in his voice.

"She's having a baby." Raoul responded. I imagined he must be rubbing his head after landing on it.

"How does she do that?" I could hear Raoul laugh mockingly from the hallway.

"Elementary! She and the doctor write a letter which is delivered to the stork. The stork then contacts the Easter Bunny who lays an egg, which is pollinated and hatched by the birds and the bees. Then the baby is sent to the Leprechaun who lives at the end of the rainbow. He delivers the baby to its rightful parents by the magic pot 'o gold express." The saddest part of it all was, I think he really expected Erik to believe that.

"But then why does she look so… pained?' Erik said, not in the least bit comforted.

"Eh. Maman can't write a letter without Papa's help. It's too hard. She gets scared." Oh, really? I could think of one man who was sleeping on the sofa tonight…

"But…" Erik was no fool. "Why don't you just go in there to help her then? And what are those other people in there for? And does this have to do with Maman's monthly appointments? And how can she be _having_ a baby if it is being delivered to her? Wouldn't she call it _ordering_ a baby?"

"Alright fine! Your mother and I had intercourse!"

"… As in contact, communication, association?"

"No! Not just any intercourse! Se-" My eavesdropping was cut short by a scream. My baby was born.

The good doctor took the child to the washbasin. I closed my eyes and listened for the sound of clanking metal, like last time when he had dropped the pan of water out of shock. The sound did not come. I opened my eyes and found the doctor approaching me, hiding the child's face with a towel. Oh no… not again. Oh heavens, please no!

"A healthy child…" he began, as always. God almighty who rests in the heavens, please! Don't do this to me again! I looked up at the doctor, pleading with him as if he could change my baby, clearly a boy from the looks of it. The doctor's eyes were misting. "I'm so sorry…" he sighed in resignation. No… no… tell me this is some kind of cruel joke.

He lifted the towel for me to see. I gasped, my hands rushing to my mouth in utter shock at what I saw…

… dear god!

… Am I really seeing this?

My son cooed and waved his hand in the air, trying to reach for his fluffy, amazing long for a child his age, hair.

I couldn't believe it.

And yet I should've known.

My son was a fop!

Next time on My Father, the Fop:

Stella: Ima gonna come over every day!

Erik: NO!

Meg: Wagh! (faints)

Stella: I sing for you! LA!

Erik: MY EARS! They BLEED!

Raoul: Hiya, can my son sing too? (holds up rag doll)

Christine: Jar.

Raoul: AHH! Where?

Madame Giry: I know something you don't know! Nah-nah-nah-nah-nah!

Meg:Will any of this really be in the next episode?

Erik: Probably not. It'll get cut in editing.

Tune in to find out!


	12. Episode 11

It's back! Sorry this took so long! They tried to block this site so I couldn't write, but I am smart and figured out how to get around that! (Erik: Mhm. And by smart you mean lucky?) Silence, infedel! (Erik: Do you even know what that means?) ... anyway! Reviewers! Thank you for sticking with me!

**The Singing Fox Demon: **Sure they'll get along... well, I never said they'd get along WELL.

**Phantom'sSonge:** I'm updating! Yes, fanfiction can be horribly addictive. Once you start you can't stop. I know. I think once I finish my stories I will check into rehab about it.

**Countess Lianna: **Thank you for adding the "possible"! It makes me feel a lot less guilty about taking so long!

**Witchy-grrl: **The piano rules. It should have its own story.

**musicalluver: **When isn't he a doof?

**wendela: **Well, he has good days and bad days. Just like Erik has sweet, low-self esteem, loving days and murderous, insane, manipulative, chadelier dropping days.

**Countess Vladislaus Dragu: **Go Erik! Hey, we're a two person Erik cheering squad! Let's get jackets!

**Carkeys:** Actually, I think Madame Giry has an explination for this one. But I like your reasoning better!

**Willow Rose 3: **You're hired! Watch out for it. It will take a while but Wenanona a.k.a. Ann will be seen!

**Larienn:**Ooh? Which Erik/Meg? I really like that pairing!

**letthedreamdescend:**Today I went to the library and when I was there I remebered your reiview so I logged on while no one was looking. Hee hee. It's so much more fun when you're not SUPPOSED to be on the site. Look at me! I'm such a rebel! I write stories in the libary!

**Baffled Seraph: **Yes! Pure evil indeed! Or to use your word, ERVIL! But little Erik is stuck with her! What will he do? How can he keep from going mad? Why am I asking myself these questions since I wrote the story and already know the answers?

**LoverofBalto: **Two Raouls. What was I thinking? Erik! Run! Run for your life? I've gone mad! (Tries to hang self)

**Misty Breyer: **Yes, the details of his first night with Christine are a big de Chagny secret. When questioned, Christine refused to comment. Raoul on the other hand sniffled and said "She said it was a merry-go-round. I thought she meant a theme park."

**Episode 11**

I really could not understand what all the excitement was about! I tried and I tried, but nothing came from it save more confusion! Where was the baby? And what was the red, smashed-faced, rodent-looking _creature_ my mother kept hauling around with her?

I observed it for a while, the way it attached itself to my mother and drained the life right out of her chest. After consulting one of the books I had received from Meg for my birthday, I concluded it must be some sort of leech. Yet my mother did not seem at all bothered by this blood-sucking parasite. In fact she could not stop coddling it. It came to a point where I was forced to wash my own face because my 'oh-so _caring'_ mother had abandoned me for the leech.

I decided, though, that my mother's strange reaction to the leech must simply be another inexplicable tendency of feminine behavior. I was disproved when I found my father fussing over the leech even more than my mother did! Even the rag doll, which only moments before had been all but fused to my father's arm, now lay sprawled out on the floor; tossed aside and forgotten.

I tried very hard to rid my mother of such an attachment. I threw fits, acted up, rearranged my father's books alphabetically rather than by color as he usually did, but nothing caught her attention. She seemed too tired to be angry or even to cry. I still did not allow myself to fret, though. I figured Meg would come in handy just about now…

But no. Meg was equally drawn in by the leech. I tried to warn her, but she only laughed and pat my head saying "You'll get used to having a little brother soon enough." I had no idea what she was talking about, of course. I didn't _have_ a little brother. Not yet. Not here. I concluded that the leech must also corrupt one's mind and memories. My rival was more powerful than I had presumed.

I did not worry, though. I figured my father would become bored soon enough and the novelty would wear off even for my mother. But when I found the servants—the very ones I was forced to hide form or frighten for survival—all cooing and waving colorful playthings in the leech's face, then I knew. This thing was a monster! It had an almost hypnotic charm about it, a charm which only I seemed to be immune to. I realized then that it was up to me to rescue my family and friends. Well, at least my mother. I could really do without my father and would even consider thanking the leech for ridding me of those pesky servants. As for Meg, loosing her would pain me, but even she was dispensable. All that mattered to me was my mother, and I would _not_ see her fall prey to her own delusions.

It was difficult, however, to even get close to the thing. My mother could not put it down for a second without it bursting into tears. What pathetic fools my mother and father were; always running like chickens without heads to attend to the leech! Oh, but it did not fool me. I saw right through its tricks, and I think it knew this too. It cried whenever I entered the room, cueing my mother to pick him up and take it away. Away from me… yes, oh yes… run. It could run, but I would catch it! As long as the leech threatened my mother I would never stop hunting it!

I waited patiently, deciding that the best course of action was to bide my time. I began to make as little notice of my presence in the house as possible. I did not even leave my room unless it was absolutely necessary. It was a large and sudden change in conduct on my part, but no one really seemed to notice. Nobody came looking for me, nor did they thank the lord for the silence. I knew this, as well, was the work of the leech. How I detested that beast! I could hardly wait until the time came to serve justice.

An opportunity finally presented itself one day, thanks to my dear father. He was in the restroom, grooming himself as usual. He took the normal bottle of scented oil that he usually put in his hair and tried to pour some onto his palm. Nothing happened. He began to squeeze, calmly at first, but then desperately. It did not take long for my father, who was by nature an easily excitable man, to panic.

"Christine!" he cried as if he had been mortally wounded. I reflected on this thought and figured, since his hair was such an integral part of my father, that maybe he _had_ been mortally wounded. "Christine! We're out of hair lubricant!" He crumpled to the floor in a heap, holding the bottle above him as if he was protecting it from falling to its own demise.

"Then go out and buy more." came my mother's weary voice. She had not slept well in days.

"I can't go out like _this_!" He gestured to his hair spastically. He really looked no different than usual. His hair simply did not smell of lavender and brandy. But I suppose you could lump this seemingly unmerited reaction under psychology. (That's pronounced sai-caw-law-gee, as Madame Giry so kindly pointed out.)

I heard my mother sigh and place the leech in my _brother's_ crib. The nerve that parasite had! As soon as my brother arrived, _then_ my mother would surely be rid of this monster. But I did not know how long it would take my brother to arrive, so in the meantime I would have to take matters into my own hands.

My mother came in looking thin, frail, tired, pale, with dark rings around her eyes. For a moment I imagined she had been playing with father's facial powders, but shrugged it away and instead passed the blame to the leech who was sucking the life out of her.

"Did you check the cabinet, Raoul?" her voice was so wispy, nothing like the instrument of beauty I had glimpsed on my birthday.

"The what? The cabinet?" My father sat up, looking most humiliated. "Oh I, suppose, well, it must've slipped my mind!" My mother opened the cabinet to reveal a life-time's supply of hair oils. I remember my father even having the cabinet enlarged so as to _fit_ all his cosmetics. The situation was most annoying, until events took a turn towards my favor.

In gratitude my father took my mother in his arms and kissed her. They had not shared these moments, which I was usually disgusted by, ever since the leech had arrived. They seemed distracted and I knew neither one had any desire to return to attend to the leech anytime soon. This was my chance! I slipped out of the room unseen, I had begun to suspect that my parents had forgotten my existence altogether, and made my way to the leech's room.

I entered in slowly, my cape wrapped around me so that I appeared more like a tall black snake rather than a human being. The door creaked ever so slightly as I shut it behind me. I imagined the click of the lock to be the sound of the leech's doom being sealed. Death had come to collect its bounty.

I had to stand on my toes and grip the bars too get a look at my victim. The creature in the crib was so unlike the one I had gotten a good look at days ago. The red had worn away, leaving a pinkish ball of rubbery flesh with golden fluff atop its head. It did not look like a leech at all, but more like a piglet. Its moist little tongue darted out of its mouth and it gave an adorable little yawn.

_Nice try piglet-leech, but I won't fall for your mind-games. _As if responding to my thoughts, the creature's eyes snapped open. Perfect blue orbs stared back at me. Oh, surely any other person would've found this endearing! But no, I wanted nothing more than to poke its little eyes out with a kitchen utensil! Again the piglet-leech must have been intoned to my thoughts, because it began to cry.

A muffled shout and the sound of my father falling to the floor with a loud thud, alerted me to my mother's approach. "Hush!" I ordered my rival. It did not do as I instructed and continued to wail, louder in fact. Fine, if it wanted to be disobedient then I would punish it.

I took its blanket, which used to be _mine_ by the way, and calmly tucked it over the creature's head. The cries were muted significantly so I dusted my hands in triumph and left the room. I may not have destroyed my foe, but now I knew I could withstand its most powerful attacks. It could do me no harm. As clever as it was, I was _by far_ the possessor of the superior intellect.

I wandered down to the study where my piano sat. The newfound silence was wonderful. Finally I could hear myself _think_ again. I stretched my fingers over the keys and played a few scales. Thrilling… I do not know how else to describe it. My heart was all a flutter. If there was anything in this world which could even _attempt_ to compare to my mother, it was music.

With that in mind I began to play; but the lucid, pure notes were interrupted by human voices. I growled low in my throat and turned on the bench to see who had been so foolish, so brash as to interrupt me while climbing the spiral of ecstasy that was music.

My mother and father were arguing. "What are you _thinking_?" I heard my mother shout like never before. She sounded so _angry_. I didn't know my mother's face was even capable of forming that expression. "He could have suffocated!" Please tell me she was not talking about the pigleech again.

"I didn't do it!" My father rebutted. "I was tending to my hair! You _saw_ me!" I had to give my father credit; he had managed to form an alibi.

"I know only what I saw, and what I _saw_ was my son being smothered!" My father whined something about the pigleech being _his_ son as well. I thought that was a fairly good argument, but nothing seemed to please my mother. "I swear! Sometimes I think I have _three_ sons rather than two!" I winced at being placed in the same sentence as the parasite.

"Oh yeah?" My father was frustrated and furious. Surely he would end this pointless squabble with a witty and unarguable comeback. "Well… sometimes _I_ feel like I have three sons instead of two!" I sighed. Why had I let myself be deceived by my own hopes?

"Oh brilliant, Raoul! I swear, you can be such a _twit_ sometimes!"

"Oh yeah? Well… _you_ can be such a twit sometimes!" This conversation was getting nowhere. I hopped off my bench and trotted up the stairs with finality.

"Of course Raoul, of course! I swear, I don't know whether to slap you for your stupidity or thank you for proving my point!"

A pause.

"Oh yeah? Well… stop swearing you… you swear-er!" Thank the powers that be I was already in front of the door. A few more minutes of listening to them and surely I would have lost whatever genius had been bestowed upon me.

"You are an egotistical lout!"

"You're a stupid… _girl_! You stupid girl!"

"You shine your shoes more often than you make love to me!" a stifled sob.

"…" Nothing, his mouth hung agape. I grabbed a blanket from the bed, still unnoticed by the way, and waited for his answer. "…Well… you're fat now!"

Alright, I had heard enough. I threw the blanket over their heads and retreated. Their shocked silence was golden. Finally I would be able to play…

A squeal. What now? "Raoul!"

"I don't care what you look like, Christine. I'm sorry. I love you." A few giggles, playful slaps, all sickening…

"Can we…?" My father's tone was strange.

"Not now, Raoul. I have to put Philippe to sleep." Then they fell silent but for the soft sounds of my mother humming.

I had reclaimed the house. It was time to voice my victory in song. Once again my fingers inched ever nearer to the keys… until a shrill shriek ran up my spine all the way to my brain and sent me into cardiac-arrest. Oh no, why now?

"MASK FACE!" Stella was knocking at my front door. She had been trying to come often. I had managed to ward her off for a few days under the pretense of being fatally ill, and highly contagious. But, as much as I'd hate to admit it, Stella was no fool. She had asked her parents and they had explained that my so-called 'hay-fever' had simply been a boyish prank. Prank indeed! More like a frantic technique for survival!

I tried to ignore her, I swear I did! But honestly, how can _anyone_ concentrate on _anything_ with that damn _ear-splitting_ racket? I finally let my head fall on the keys; making a horribly discordant, but somehow infinitely more pleasant than Stella's voice, sound. Not even bothering to look up, I groaned and waved my hand, signaling for someone to answer the door.

Stella skipped right in, her horrendous and huge pink bow bouncing in time with her steps. Stars, how I hated her!

Yet something in me would not relinquish the desire to hear music. I _would_ play! Today! I didn't care if the bloody Phantom of the Opera himself showed up!

I looked up at Stella who was teasing one of her curls. She had lovely hair, so much like my mother's. It seemed a crime that a girl such as _her_ should be blessed with such lustrous locks.

"My name isn't mask face…" I said stubbornly but not harshly. I was really more tired than annoyed by then.

"Oh, I know." She answered brightly. "It's just; I don't want to use your real name until you introduce yourself properly. It's like that in all the fairy-tales, you know." I rolled my eyes at her ignorance. Life was _not_ a fairy-tale. Even my father seemed to grasp that… at times… on good days… when he was highly inebriated.

But I regress. I don't know what was going through my frustrated, tired, over-stressed, envious, irritated, brilliant, toddler mind when I decided to try and reason with her. "My name is Erik." I said, staring at my piano to keep from seeing her infuriating delight. "Erik de Chagny, son of Raoul de Chagny." She giggled and gave me a hug. It was awkward. I had not expected something so seemingly sweet and affectionate from this girl.

"Well Erik. As you know, I am Stella." I wretched myself out of her grasp, falling to the floor as I met the end of the bench.

"I _know_ your name!" I growled angrily, shifting up to rest on my forearms. "And quite frankly, I don't care." I stood and twirled off my cape; it was getting awfully crumpled and I knew Stella's presence would only make the situation worse.

When I looked up I was much surprised, and a bit disturbed, to find Stella had not taken my last comment to heart. Instead she was smiling, shaking her head wisely as if she held some great secret I would never know. I bristled at the thought of her knowing anything that I did not and commanded for her to voice whatever was on her mind.

She came towards me slowly. "Oh, Erik. You're so precious!" She stopped once her face was in my personal space. Needless to say, I felt more than just invaded, I felt downright violated! Still, despite the waves of hatred emanating from my being, her expression remained giddy. "Boys always say such things at your age. Maman told me so!" At this she stuck up her nose. "But once you're older you'll be at my feet, begging me to be your wife." The very idea of marriage even involving Stella made me ill to my stomach. I quickly brought a hand up to smother my mouth while I tried to drown the nausea.

She waited, tapping her left toe, for me to answer. I noticed she was no longer wearing the red shoes. I asked her about them and she casually informed me of the unwritten fashion law which stated no shoes may be worn for longer than a period of three consecutive days.

Rage bubbled inside me. After how hard I had worked to obtain those shoes, she had not worn them for even a week? She was dead. I was going to _kill_ her!

But the moment my hands twitched up to encircle her delicate little neck, Stella had turned her attentions to the piano. _My_ piano.

"This is new." My, how very obvious of her. "Can you play it?" No, my dear. I simply stare at it from the bench you found me sitting at.

"Of course I can play it!" I shoved her out of my way and sat before my instrument of beauty. With deft hands I sped across the keys, inventing melodies as they came to me, pounding out my frustrations, telling her how much I _detested_ her through the winding notes.

To my astonishment, as the melody repeated, Stella begun to hum. It was a fair sound, though too weak. I had to strain to hear her over my fervent playing. I stopped. I heard her clearly for just a second before she stopped as well.

"Oh, do continue!" she said it like an order. I glared. I did not serve _her_.

"No, I don't think I will." I said it calmly, though my fury was returning.

"And why not?" Bickering. Why was this house always plagued with bickering?

"Because," I tried to come up with a way to put my thoughts into words that would make my offer irrefutable, "I want to hear your lovely voice." Her eyebrows shot up hearing the first compliment I had ever lavished upon her. With a vain grin she began to hum a simple children's tune. I banged hard on the keys suddenly, sending a crash of jarring chords through the room and causing Stella to jump back in fright.

"No, no, no!" I banged on the keys with every word. "Do not _hum_! _Sing_! I said I wanted to hear you _sing_!"

"You _said_ you wanted to hear my voice! You did not specify how!" She argued back. I once again pushed my weight into the keys, holding the inharmonious noise longer this time.

"Well now I am specifying! Sing! And not one of those asinine juvenile songs!" I removed my weight, silence settling in gradually as the echoes dissolved into thin air. "Sing my song…" I said, suddenly gentle. I played for her so she could hear the melody one more time, incase her skimpy mind had already forgotten.

There was evident apprehension in Stella's large, almond eyes as she returned to my side. _Good, let her fear her master._ You see, if Stella insisted to spend time with me, then I insisted to rule over her.

Her voice was thin, flimsy. I could tear through it like a slice of wet bread. No, she would need work. So much work! But it was nothing I couldn't accomplish, of this I was certain.

I lifted my hand, signaling for her to cease. She closed her mouth, an amazing feat, and waited. "Stella, your voice has potential." She glowed. "Yet it is feeble. Feeble beyond acceptance." Now she glowered. "But, my dear, there is hope for you!" I stood and took her hand, bowing formally. "I can help you." I did not look up. I knew if I saw her snobbish face I would be disgusted and would take back my offer.

I didn't know how I would react if she denied me. My pride would not handle it well. Perhaps she _would_ be acquainted with my lasso after all. But there was no need to worry. She accepted and bounced about happily. Odd, she reminded me of my father when the newspapers announced a sale…

And it was in that way which I came to find solace in my days, even if I was forced to spend them with Stella. I would play and coach her, she would sing and mature. In a flash two months passed us by. The threat of the pigleech fell completely out of mind. Stella had become the center of my existence and I did not even like her!

At first the prospect of working so hard had disenchanted her. She had whined and complained, but I had not left room for objections. While most of the time she seemed to have the upper hand, the sound of angry music intimidated her and I preyed upon this weakness mercilessly.

Soon discipline had been established and she surrendered herself to becoming a dedicated pupil. She was improving greatly at an astonishing rate.

Yet it was not the times when we made music that were the most enjoyable, I'll admit. My guiltiest pleasure, perhaps, was one scorching day of summer. We sat in the garden, in the shade under an old birch tree. Alamoda brought us each an apple and departed, smiling and calling the two of us together "A charming glimpse into the future." Stella didn't understand. I did and it annoyed me. How dare she believe our truce to be a portent of marriage? Still, I said nothing. The day was too hot for scaring off servants.

As we ate and lay back in the grass, listening to the birds make their own music, Stella suddenly found curiosity nibbling at the edges of her consciousness. "Erik?" she asked with a sweetness I knew she never possessed unless she was singing or wanted something.

"Mmm?" I did not even open my eyes. I felt her sit up beside me. Her hand brushed my uncovered cheek gently and I tensed.

"What do you look like? Under the mask, I mean." I turned the right side of my face away from her prying eyes. Why did she ruin everything? Stars, I _despised_ her!

"Don't you remember, Stella? I have a 'monster-face'. You wouldn't want to see that."

"Oh, but I do!" She turned my face back to her. I opened my eyes and wished I could find compassion in her eyes. Alas! Only inquisitiveness shone in them! "Erik, I don't care what you look like. I know you. Your face can't change how I think about you." Ah, my dear Stella. What a terrible liar you are. Sure your face is may remain unreadable, but your eyes betray everything!

"If it doesn't matter then you needn't see." I took her hands in mine and sat up. She was older than me by around two years, and taller. Damn. Height was not on my side.

"Oh, c'mon! Stop being such a baby! Just a peek."

"No!" I pushed her away from me, a bit too roughly. She stood and marched towards me, holding her skirts to show how hard she stamped her feet.

"How dare you lay a hand on a lady?"

"What lady?" I pretended to look around.

"You!" While I was distracted looking under a rock, she ripped my mask off. I froze.

I waited patiently for her reaction. She screamed, typical. Her voice was a shrill in screams as when she talked. Ugh, and it was a flat scream too. Couldn't she even keep it in tune?

My mask was thrown back at me, perhaps in an attempt to hurt me. Only once I had secured my protection back on my face did I even try to see her expression.

She was terrified, as if she had just seen the most horrible thing you could ever imagine. As if she had seen hell and the devil himself! Her eyes were tearing but her pride would not allow her to cry. Her nose was red and her cheeks were pale. She looked almost like a porcelain doll, so drained of color and so uncharacteristically vulnerable.

_Are you happy now? Huh, Stella? You stupid girl with your frivolous pink bow that makes me hate you! You spoiled, rotten child! Are you happy now? No, now you're petrified. Do you want to go home? Well, it's too late for that, my dear. Far too late._ But despite my ranting thoughts all I actually said was "Come, let us return to your lessons."

After that we both pretended the whole incident never happened, and with time I think we both actually began to believe it. What did it matter? Either way our parents still wanted us to spend time together, and no girlish fears would sway them.

Did I mention how inefficient the pigleech was? No, I haven't spoken about the pigleech in a while, have I? That's what Stella did to me. She stole all my attentions, whether or not I wanted her too. Oh, I couldn't stand her! But I did enjoy her voice. Her voice was lovely. Or at least it was _becoming_ lovely, thanks to me.

Anyway, I believe I was talking about the pigleech. For months now my rival had kept my parents occupied. All of a sudden it began to sleep more often and cry less. So my mother decided she wanted to _remember_ her son she had abandoned and came downstairs to find me one fine morning. I was working with Stella on a fairly simple piece which she just could not seem to get right. At that precise moment when my mother entered the room, she sang it so well that I raised my voice to meet with hers. Only once the song was completed did I even become aware of my mother's presence, or of the fact that she was crying.

Brilliant idea after brilliant idea. That is the curse of the de Chagny family. Always so many damn brilliant ideas which really are nonsense. My mother, bless her misguided little soul, was no exception. After hearing me that day with Stella she decided it was time I visited the long-time shut down Opera Populair and woke the Angel of Music inside of me. I was utterly perplexed by her ramblings, but when I went to ask my father about them all I got was a "Never mention angels or demons in this house again!" This of course only added to my confusion. What a family we were, us de Chagnys!

Stella was told not to come for the day, a point of much rejoicing on my behalf, since we were to go to this used-to-be Opera House. At the time I was so very excited. But I _was_ only four. How could I have known any better?

It wasn't much and I can't say much about what I saw since it was the same everywhere I went. Dust, wreckage, debris, ash… how had this ever been a marvelous theatre?

"Come, Erik." My mother's sweet smile was the only reason I did not allow myself to become depressed in such disheartening surroundings. My father stumbling over various objects helped a bit too.

We finally came to the stage, or what was left of it. It was perhaps the most damaged part of the theatre and I soon discovered why. In the front few rows of the audience lay a grimy, burnt, shattered chandelier. "Maman… what happened?" Even in this state it did not take much imagination to see the chandelier had once been magnificent.

"It was dropped onto the audience." She said mournfully. Though for what exactly she mourned I was did not know.

"By who?" I quickened my pace to keep up with her as she walked through the aisles, waves of nostalgia radiating from her delicate body.

"The Phantom of the Opera, of course." Though she spoke as if it was common knowledge, I realized there was something more behind her words. Some hidden meaning. Was it… it couldn't be guilt. Why? Why would she feel guilt for what she had no control over?

"Christine, let's go home." My father said, dusting himself off from his most recent fall.

"Yes. Lets." My mother murmured softly, her eyes downcast. Who was this Phantom who seemed to have such a strong hold upon the people he once haunted, even now, long since dead?

I looked down at my reflection in one of the shards of what used to be a small part of a grand, sparkling crystal chandelier. Seeing myself I felt guilty as well. Why? What had _I_ done? Yet something inside told me this was all a part of who I was, that I would not be here had these events not gone this way. Was my existence all just a product of this tragic destruction? "Angel of music…" I muttered bitterly and sorrowfully. Where had that treasured _angel_ been then?

"Angel of music…" my echo came back to me changed, morphed. It was darker, deeper somehow. What phenomenal acoustics this stage must have had. "Oh, Christine…" my echo continued, brokenly. I whirled around so fast I felt dizzy. Who was there?

A scream. I spun back around. I caught only the sight of a frill from my mother's dress as it disappeared around a corner.

"Maman!" My father and I gave chase but I found myself trapped by the chandelier. I raced around it but it took far too long! By the time I caught up all that was left was my father on his knees, crying as he clutched a lilac slipper.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

That monster, that beast had my love! I followed him, running as fast as my perfectly tones muscles would carry me. There he stood dragging Christine, who struggled violently, to the mirror.

"Noooo…" I cried out. The thing stopped. "…oooo…" I went on until I was forced to take a breath.

"Are you quite finished?" he asked, his visible eyebrow arched.

"Wait, wait for it. Ooooh…" I paused to observe my glamorously manicured nails on my outstretched hand, then continued, "ooooh! Okay, now." And he disappeared. "No, Christine! I love her!" I shouted until my voice had lost all traces of its usual light, fluffy beauty. Yes, that was how much I loved Christine. "Does that mean nothing? I love her!" A shoe was thrown at me in response. I recognized one of my favorite lilac slippers. But where was its match? "You beast! How cruel can you be to take only one slipper? I can't use them unless I have both! You monster! Do you hear me? Monster!" My son ran in soon after.

"Papa…" his voice cracked. My poor, slippers-less son!

"It's alright, Erik." I breathed deep, steeling my strength. "We _will_ get its pair back!"

"…What? Wait, what about Maman?"

"Oh, yes. Her too."

Next time on My Father, the Fop:

Erik: I want my mommy back!

Raoul: Me too! Er.. I mean wife. Yeah...

Phillipe: (Cries in a foppy way)

Meg: Wait, how did a a dead guy capture her? This is totally twilight zone!

Raoul: My slipper! I am cinderella! When will my prince return my other shoe?

Madame Giry: I STILL know something you don't know!

Erik: Then tell us!

Madame Giry: No!

Stella: TELL US OR I WILL SCREAM!

Madame Giry: ...fine. The secret is-

Tune in next time!


	13. Episode 12

Okay! I rushed to get this done in time! I hope you like it! Finally the plot will start to actually show. Just like a soap opera to take forever on setting up the plot. But, like a soap opera, when I get to the climax it'll have to be annoying and let you down. So let's enjoy this while it still has some dignity, shall we?

And remember, be a part of the story! Review and I'll give you a personal thanks on some chapters. Here's some reviewers who have already become a partof Mi padre, el Fop:

**Spinder-UndeadBallerina: **Hope this doesn't dissapoint you! (Hides from wagging finger)

**RozzandMaya:** Yay! I'm glad you caught how I was naming all the servants after food! Hey, little Erik is sorta like Calvin, isn't he?

**LadyTatiana: **lol! But hey, at least your cousin isn't a _pig_leech!Or a fop!

**musicallover: **Late review nothing! Better late than never! And as for the schizo idea, I think Erik might be a little schizo anyway, as you will see in the NEXT chapter!

**Larienn: **Ooh! I read that fic!I think I might even hav it in my favs. Thanks. If you find any other good E/M stories keep me posted, will ya? They're a rarity and its even harder to find good ones, but sometimes you stumble across them.

**Witchy-grrl: **Hilarious? My fops? Aw, thanks! I try! But of course, I do feel a bit guilty about unleashing ANOTHER fop into the phantom world. (Shudder) Think of the massive world-wide hair gel shortages!

**wendela:** Now that you mention it, yes she is! Right down to her over-the-top pink bow!

**Willow Rose 3: **Yes, I'll be using Willow and Ann, but without the powers. Can't have anyone be more powerful than Erik, now can I? They should show up in two or three chapters.

**The Singing Fox Demon: **Guess what? (Whispers) 'nother cliffhanger. Hee! Don't worry though! The next chapter shouldn't take me as long.

**Baffled Seraph: **To answer your questions: 1)How dare she? Well, she's Stella the pink bow girl! Fear her! 2)Well, I guess you could say he does. 3)Yes.

**letthedreamdescend:** Ahh! After I read your review I was humming "Notes" all night! Curse you! And yet... I like that song, as I do all Phantom songs. So I guess, thank you!

**MistyBreyer: **You have proof? AHH! WHO TOLD YOU? (Hides behind Misty flag)

**Countess Vladislaus Dragu: **Hey! That's a brilliant idea! You know, I think I might just have Erik and Erik team up to steal the fop's slippers. And his socks. And all his clothes in general. In fact, why don't they just take all his stuff? Except for the jars. He can keep those.

**LoverofBalto: **I agree! Pink bows make foppy hair look as sexy as Erik's mask! 0o... well, maybe I'm exaggerating just a tad...

**Episode 12**

"I must save her!" Raoul was pacing around the room frantically, as he had been doing for the last several hours. He would not eat, he would not sleep, he stopped for nothing; save to brush his hair or to ask someone to remind him what he was doing.

I could not understand why he did not simply ask my mother to lead him to the lair, as she had the last time. In fact it was little Erik who sent someone to fetch us, though he had yet to show himself. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, fiddling with my skirts. "Monsieur, are you quite certain it was the Opera Ghost? He is dead! They found his body and everything." Raoul stopped pacing, his back to me. He turned slowly, intimidating. I would have been frightened, had he not forgotten to tie his shoes and tripped on a lace; landing flat on his face.

He picked himself up, sniffling and staring at his hands as if he was debating whether or not to cry. Once the silence grew awkward, I repeated my question.

He stood, dusting himself off and fixing his hair. Finally he took in a breath to relax and looked at me. "Yes, mademoiselle! I am positive it was the Phantom! It could be no one else! I know that mask anywhere. It is unmistakable." A mask appeared from the shadows to stand beside Raoul. "Eep!" He jumped five feet in the air, falling hard on his rear-end.

"Unmistakable, eh?" Little Erik said with a smirk.

"Erik, mind yourself." My mother warned. Little Erik nodded, muttering under his breath, and then turned to me. I had never seen him in such a state; his hair unkept, his clothing ruffled, his eyes so dull. Christine meant the world to her son. That much was clear. I could not help a pang of guilt at that knowledge, though I was not sure why.

Little Erik sighed and took a seat by my side, passing a tiny hand through his hair. "How can we get here back?" he asked, looking up to face me, imploring me. "I looked everywhere for any signs of a secret passage but there was none!" Of course, the Phantom would make his trapdoors visible only to himself.

Still, there was one discrepancy nagging at the back of my mind. A little voice kept pushing the question forward, insisting I voiced it. Finally I gave in. "I don't think she's been kidnapped by the Phantom." All eyes were on me. As if _I_ knew where Christine was! "The Phantom is dead! He could not have taken anyone!"

My mother shook her head in a sagely way. "Ah, but he can Marguerite." I cringed, hearing her use my full name for once since a long time.

"How?" Little Erik now. Nothing could deter him. He would save Christine even if from beyond the grave.

My mother sighed, crossing herself. "Forgive me…" she murmured to the emptiness of the Opera House. Finally she turned to little Erik, patting his head dearly. She leaned in closely to whisper, though still loud enough so we could all hear. "The Phantom is alive…" A gasp caught in my throat. Little Erik did not even move. Neither of us did. We could not; everything we knew for certain had suddenly been inverted, flipped upside down. The rules of the game had changed leaving us trapped in what we thought we knew, in what never existed.

"But wait." Raoul said, still sitting where he landed and rubbing his sore behind. "Where's Christine?" What? "Christine! See? I call and she doesn't answer." Had he not heard _anything_ we said? My mother must've sensed me tense because her hand suddenly shot out to grip mine.

"Just let it go, Meg. Let it go."

"How do we get to his lair? How do I save my Maman?" Nothing would distract him. Oh Christine, you may be as bland as your husband at times, but what _passions_ you brought out in people. Especially those who wore half masks.

"Meg, take Erik home. He should not be here any longer. It is not safe for him." He protested, but my mother explained that he could only help if he was alive. For now we had to keep him safe.

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I had always known it wouldn't work. I had been a fool ever to even return. But I had pitied poor, unhappy Erik. And I knew that I was partly to blame for the outcome.

I had never known that rescuing Erik would bring such tremendous, irreversible, and ghastly consequences. Still, I do not regret _that_ for a moment. My later actions, how I handled Erik when he was in my care, _that_ is the source of my shame. I had thrown him down in the dungeons without so much as a word. I had been so anxious to help him, to hide him, but to not give myself away, that I had not even come to check on him for days.

It was not surprising when I found him gone. It also should've been expected to see him find his way around; discovering secret paths and building trapdoors where there weren't any. It was only after he had settled himself that he tried to seek me out. He was so secretive, out of fear of the other people, and so nervous, out of fear of me. He did not think I wanted to see him and the truth was I didn't know what I wanted. Erik could confuse a person that way.

He frightened me. He had been only nine and yet had managed to strangle a full grown man! Such strength hid in those small, long fingers. Of course, I pitied him. I wanted to see him cared for but I could not bring myself to have anything more than a casual conversation with him. I feared prying into his pains, trying to console him. I feared bringing up his past, even in an effort to comfort and help him, would anger him. I knew if he grew angry at me then nothing could save me. He had adjusted to the shadows quickly and made them his world. He could walk comfortably around the Opera House, undetected. Whatever he needed or desired he stole or sent me to fetch. When my own funds proved too small, Erik informed me of his plans; sending me off to deliver notes to the manager and punishing him when he laughed at the note, dismissing it as a childish prank on my part.

I suppose it was fortunate then that I did not have many friends, if any. As a youth of only fifteen years my life was consumed by a confused combination of pitying poor, unhappy Erik and avoiding him in fear for my own life. But I could not hide, he always found me. And such a child I was, I did not see just how much he adored me! He fancied me a surrogate mother, sought my attentions tirelessly. I tried to give him all of myself that I could, to put aside my fears to heal his anguish. But how could a mere child care for another child? I could not even bring myself to embrace him. If only I had the wisdom of my old age back then! What could I have prevented, had I only shown him just a moment of compassion?

In the end it was inevitable. I left him when a dashing suitor showed interest in me. I did not think he would really mind. I had imagined he'd be lonely at first but would soon adjust as he always did, perhaps even find _another_ ballet girl to torment. How blind innocence can make one! When I returned, a daughter in hand and no husband to watch us, Erik would not even show himself to me. I was a woman then, experience had taught me how to live and I could have held him, but by then he was already becoming a young man. What use did he have for the surrogate mother who had abandoned him, just as the rest of the world had?

He never again came to speak with me. When absolutely necessary he would drop a note in my path for me to deliver or a list of items to be left in a secret location. At the most I would on occasion hear his dark music at night and strained my ears to capture all that I could of the faint melody. Erik had cut off his final line to the world. He became to me what he had been to everyone else, a phantom.

So then what possessed me just a week after the chandelier crash? Why had I returned, deliberately seeking him out? It had been for my conscious; to tell myself that this time I _had_ done all that I could do, but I had not expected to actually _find_ him. What a pitiful state he was in. My fear melted away instantly and I finally became that mother he had yearned for. He returned to me, so sweet and adoring. Sometimes, at his most feverish, he pleaded with me to stay, to love him. _Oh Erik… _

But as his health returned I found him withdrawing within himself more and more, until finally one day he stood and ordered I leave him. My fear was there, just as powerful as ever, but I could no longer heed it. Not after what I had seen. I tried to stay, or to convince him to come with me. Stubborn man he had grown into, denying himself what he most wanted. He himself had begged me to stay only days ago! He himself had pleaded with me to never leave him, no matter what happened or what he did.

But his following actions shocked me and proved that perhaps my fear had never been irrational. He tried to kill me. He stumbled, due to his long time in bed, and that was the only reason I escaped. Only after I had rushed home did I really stop to think and realize just what had happened. Erik had tried to kill me. He did not are who should live or die. Deep down inside there was still a lost and scared child, but it was hidden now under layers of madness. He would have killed me, of that I have no doubt. He would kill perhaps even Christine now, if she came to close. That was why I had to protect little Erik. If he was not prepared then the madness would consume him and he would not even think. He would act and he would kill his only son.

For yes! Little Erik was the son of poor, unhappy Erik. But I will return to how I know this and what part I played in his conception. At the moment I had to focus on the perplexed Viscount picking through the shards crystal on a lilac slipper.

"Monsieur le Viscount." I said firmly. He turned to face me, setting his expression to become grim.

"Where is she, Madame Giry? I know that you know. So tell me!" His raised voice irritated me, but I did not allow myself to lose my calm.

"I shall tell, monsieur. But not here. We are being watched."

"By whom?" he looked around him, his hand unconsciously reaching towards his waist where his sword would be.

"Do I really need to answer that? Who else? He is always watching here." I pointed to a vase in the corner, a mere couple feet from where we stood. Behind it stood Erik, his eyes burning with hatred and the memory of betrayal. Though, seeing as the vase only covered the bottom half of his body, I was rather puzzled as to why the Viscount had not noticed him.

"Where?" Raoul spun around frantically.

"Monsieur, do not spin so! You will make yourself dizzy!" And, true to my words, he fell soon after, the images of swirls beginning to reflect faintly in his eyes. Odd, I had never seen that happen to anyone else.

I turned my attention back to Erik, but he was gone.

"Heaven help you." I whispered reverently and walked out of the Opera Populair, a tipsy Viscount staggering in my wake.

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"Check mate!" I gave the girl an odd look. Little Erik was fuming.

"What do you _mean_ check mate?"

"Game set and match!" She stuck her tongue out victoriously.

"You can't—"

"King me!"

Little Erik slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand. "We're playing _poker_!"

Stella tilted her head in a pensive manner. "Well then, uno!"

"Close enough?" I tried to calm little Erik. My initial intention had been to take his mind off matters with a game, but Stella was making everything worse! "At least she's figured out we're playing a card game." Little Erik fixed me with a glare, sending chills down my spine.

Suddenly I found myself on the floor and the table thrown across the room. Scattered cards rained down all around me. Stella was crying. I sat up quickly, holding my head to support it. Little Erik was gone.

My mother and Raoul arrived not too long after that. I cleaned up the mess, with some help from the servants, and Stella was sent home. This was going to be a difficult night. I could already feel its weight upon me.

My mother sat on the edge of the chaise, myself on an armchair, while Raoul continued to pace; chewing on a toy pipe and blowing bubbles out of it occasionally.

"Firstly I suppose there is something I must explain." My mother began. "The Phantom is not dead." Raoul gasped in shock. My mother glared. "As we have _already_ established, thus it should come as no surprise, the Phantom is not dead." Another gasp from Raoul. My mother rolled her eyes and continued. "_Anyway_, as I was _saying_, the obituary was a fake. I know because… I am the one who had it put in Le Epoche!" She paused. Crickets chirped in the silence.

"Um, Monsieur le Viscount?" I interjected. "I do believe that is your cue."

"Finally!" He gasped, prompting a pleased nod from my mother who continued solemnly.

"The Phantom came to my home, you see. He insisted that I have his death announced. It was all just a desperate final attempt to convince Christine to return to him. I do believe he thought his death would draw her to the Opera House one final time. But by then the two of you were already wed, so the plan was a failure."

"Gasp!"

"No, I think that merits more of an 'aha' reaction." I corrected.

"Oh…" He thrust a finger in the air to emphasize his point. "Aha!" I threw him a treat.

"So what do we do now?" I said, trying to focus on the matter at hand.

"We rescue Christine. But first, we need a plan. Surely between our three minds we can come up with an idea…"

"Ooh! Ooh! I know!" Raoul jumped up and down excitedly, holding his arm up like a schoolboy waiting to be called on. My mother signaled for him to speak. "Okay, I've got a plan. We'll perform him opera, right? Well, Meg will dress up like Christine so he'll think _we_ have Christine. Then he'll show up to watch her perform his opera! But wait, wait for it, here's the brilliant part… we have a bunch of police dudes with like, muskets and crap waiting for him!"

I blinked. "Well, certainly between our two minds we can come up with an idea." I smiled weakly.

"Indeed." My mother nodded, regarding Raoul suspiciously. "Say, hasn't this joke been done before?"

"I believe it has." I mused. "Oh yes, Phantom in 15 mins.! You know, the one where you talk all weird."

"Ah! Zat eez ze one!"

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I hadn't known what to think at first. My only instinct had been to scream. But soon after we had begun to descend into his world of dark music and candlelight, I found myself feeling anything but fear. My angel was alive? But _how_? What about the obituary? Had he published it simply to fool me? To punish me for leaving him? But then how did I explain my son's _unique_ characteristics? If he was not my angel's reincarnation, then why was he just _like_ him?

Then my thoughts had wandered off to my baby Erik. Erik, my angel, was taking me away from him. I began to shout, to demand that he release me. My words fell on deaf ears. All he did was tighten his viselike grip around my fragile wrist. Soon I dissolved into pleading, begging him to release me for my children's sake. He only responded by quickening his pace, causing me to stumble and trip. He did not even bother to stop but dragged me along behind him.

I tried to meet his eyes, to find anything of the man who had once been my angel. Erik would not even face me. My angel Erik, that is. My son Erik was not present. I had to keep reminding myself of which Erik is which, making me rather dizzy, so finally I resolved to call my angel Erik and call my son little Erik, which by some miracle everyone else in the story will suddenly begin to do as well.

When we reached his lair he said not a word, but threw me into my room. I tried to run out but a door was slammed in my face. The sound of a key clicking in place came from outside. He had locked me in. Strange, there had not been a door here the last time, simply a curtain. Had he added it in my absence? Had he planned to capture me like this?

I banged on the door relentlessly, begging him to release me, telling him of my infant Philippe who would die without his mother, daring even to call him a monster if he kept me here.

Not a sound greeted me. I realized he must have left, perhaps to kill Raoul!

But at that moment Raoul was the least of my concerns. All I could think about was little Erik. What would my angel do when he saw my son? How would he react? What would he _think_? _I_ didn't even know what to think about the coincidence of their faces and personality anymore.

Yet somewhere in the back of my mind a voice spoke up.

_You do know Christine…_

It taunted me cruelly.

_You do know. You refuse to admit the truth, but it is there. You know why they are so similar. It really is quite simple. Why not let go of your delusions of sanity and let the madness back in?_

Another voice rose to join it.

_Let us in Christine! Let us in! We are so hungry! Let us feast on your pains and make them all disappear!_

And another…

_Yes Christine! We can give you what reality denied you!_

And another…

_Let us in!_

I had forgotten there were so many!

_We are your sanctuary!_

_The ones who wouldn't let you stop believing in the Angel of Music!_

_The ones who comforted you with blissful insanity when your father died._

_We've always been there, Christine, nibbling at the recesses of your consciousness._

_Until that one day you finally let us in…._

_Do you remember that, Christine? Do you remember how happy you were when we were inside of you always?_

I did remember. That time, not too long before I married Raoul, right after I left my angel that fateful night, when those demons began to be let loose into my brain. I lost my mind. Yes, I was absolutely stark raving mad! Yet it had been so easy… just to slip into that warmth. Oh yes, I was so cold and covered in goose pimples. Madness greeted me once more, bringing me what I most desired; freedom.

_Remember!_

_Let us in!_

_We're a part of you!_

_You know the truth._

_We are faithful!_

_Do not fight!_

_You cannot escape it!_

_I like crumpets!_

Yes, I did like crumpets. Particularly with jam or syrup spread over them. Wait, no! I could not fall to madness! Not now! I had to escape and for that I would need my wits about me!

I grabbed my head and began thrashing, fighting to banish the unwanted voices from my head. Finally the garbled mix of demonic whispers receded. I let out a breath and realized I was panting from my efforts.

_Are they gone?_ I thought to myself.

_I…I think so…_ My own, sane mind answered. I sighed in relief. All was well.

Silence.

Beautiful silence.

…_CRUMPETS?_

"Ahh!" I screamed and fell into the bed. I screamed so loud and so long that by the time I ran out of breath, I had passed out. In the oblivion of unconsciousness, dreams filled with talking crumpets haunted my sleep.

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I couldn't stand it any longer. I had shut myself in my room, trying to drown out each of my father's idiotic proposed plans by whatever methods I could. Nothing worked. Already I had listened to the man mention plans involving color coordination, jars, hair gel, rag dolls, nail files, and full-sized mirrors so that we wouldn't forget our pants. I could take it no longer!

The entire time, since my father first told me the identity of my mother's captor, an idea had been forming in my mind. Carefully, unconsciously, craftily, I formulated and idea so absurd yet plausible that it _had_ to work. I marched down the stairs and threw a bottle of vinegar and bicarbonate, making for an explosive entrance. All eyes were on me. I puffed out my chest and announced:

"I… have a plan."

…

…

Crickets chirped.

"A _good_ plan."

My father gasped.

Next time on My Father, the Fop:

Raoul: Hey! I have a plan!

Meg: Really?

Raoul: Yeah! Let's do what little Erik said!

Meg: But.. that makes it little Erik's plan.

Raoul: Duh! But it was my idea to use it!

Madame Giry: Shut up or I won't tell you the rest of the secret!

Meg/Raoul/Crickets: There's more?

Madame Giry: So much more...

Christine: I wanna crumpet!

Erik: Great, another running joke.

Little Erik: Luke, I am your son!

Luke: Wtf?

Stella: Yeah, I probably won't even be in the next episode.

Crickets: That's cause everyone hates you.

Philippe: (cries in a foppy way)

Tune in next time! (Cheesy little "dun dun dun" ditty)


	14. Episode 13

Yeah, this took a while. About that... I'm, uh... well... eh...heh heh. Well, a lot f my favortie writers on this site haven't updated either!

Okay, you want to know the truth? My "twin", my source of humor inspiration, has been away for the last couple of weeks visiting family. I need her back! I tried to update the best I could...I really did!

(Sings) Readers I'm sorry I took so long. Stay by my side, trust me! Reviewers my twiny is gone, forgive me! Here are your replies, please review! (Stops)

**Kimberly:** And eat them he shall! That's what Willow Rose is for!

**Larienn:** Here's your dose! But I don't encourage addictions! (Shufty-eyed) Unless they're Phantom related...

**Spinder-UndeadBallerina: **(Fights off wagging finger with a broom) You know, you guilted me into finishing this! This chapter is all YOUR fault! This it is also dedicated to you!

**Kianra 17: **Ah, yes. Raoul is kinda... slow, isn't he? Hey, did you read the rest? If you did, then you didn't review! (Shame, shame, shame!)

**Moon Avenger: **Ah, don't worry! I take threats forcing me to write as compliments! Only one thing... (Grabs Erim out of your grasp) Yoink!

**wendela: **Yes. Through natural selection only the most beautiful and foppiest survive in high-class Parisian society, the de Chagny family has developed immunities to several physically straining accidents. These include but are not limited to: falling on your face, having your hair shaved off, being burned in a visible area, having your clothes rip in a non-sexy place, any scars or wounds that are not sexy, and sweating.

**YoukoElfMaiden: **Zank joo verreh verreh much! Yeah, I always pictured Raoul overreacting. He doesn't seem like the type to pass up an opportunity to be overdramatic.

**Willow Rose: **Hmm... you make a persuasive arguement. Let's see where the story takes me. They should show up in about two chapters... hopefully. I have plans. Oh, such plans! So brilliant, and full of gelatin!

**RozzandMaya: **No... lose... arm...? Aww... well, see? Now I had to rewrite the chapter!

**The Singing Fox Demon: **Wow, you just pretty much summed up my whole story! I should have you writing the "Next time on..."s.

**Witchy-grrl: **YAY! Yeah, that was my favorite one! I should give the demonic-crumpet-loving voice it's own chapter! (Pause) Hey...

**gavvie: **Well, not exactly asap. But here it is!

**Baffled Seraph: **Yeah, I had to have Madame Giry do it. The trouble is, since I'm basing it off the movie, Nadir doesn't exist. It does make me sad though. Poor Nadir is so neglected! Maybe I can fit him in here somewhere.

**Dee**: Yeah, kinda shoots down Christines whole "reincarnation" theory, doesn't it?

**CoolGirlEmily:** Yes... muffins were taken.

**amandathevampirelove: **See? You didn't review more often so I didn't take as long, I took longer! Kidding, actually, thankyou! It's a relief to know other people find what I write funny. Sometimes I think I'm just a major nutcase and no-one else is gonna get what I'm saying...

**Misty Breyer: **According to the ff dictionary: A kind of large, thin, unsweetened muffin or cake, light  
and spongy, and cooked on a griddle or spider, or  
sometimes toasted. AND UPDATE SOON! Your story just keeps getting better and better! I readyour latest chapterat school during a test. Curse your funiness! Everyone around me thought I had lost my mind! Well, what hasn't already been lost to insanity, anyway.  
**  
letthedreamdescend: **(Stands, twiddling thubs idly, awaiting disaster beyond her imagination) I'm sorry I took so long! Please! Don't erase my memory of Phantom! That's the worse unimaginablething I can imagine at the moment...

**LoverofBalto: **A staring contest you say... No that wouldn't work. And only for one reason. After a while I think they'd get creeped out and think they were staring in a mirror. And since we all know Erik smashes mirrors... Well, it would be a big mess. Wouldn't it?

**Countess Vladislaus Dragu:** Raoul thinks slippers were so 1860. Now it's all about sparkly hair accesories.

**musicallover: **That's what I was aiming for! I wanted Meg and little Erik to have a sibling type relationship! Yes! I AM getting through! Sorry about the confusion. I'll work on that for next time. Thanks for the tip!

**Episode 13**

"You have to tell him!" I was not at all happy with how my mother had handled the situation. "His plan will never work!" Little Erik had proposed we go back to the ruins of the opera house and make the Phantom an offer: trade Christine for his son. I understood that Little Erik was only a child and didn't know the… _requirements_ to be someone's father, but my mother had agreed to go along with his plan.

"Quiet! Listen. The plan _will_ work, and let me explain why." She signaled for me to move closer. She had to speak in whispers so Raoul; over in the next room recruiting Philippe to help him invade the cellars of the opera house with his own plan, and little Erik; up in his room packing a suitcase, could not hear.

I took in a quick breath, shocked by my mother's words. "But… what if he doesn't believe you? He is a clever man, Maman! What if he is only angered and tries to kill you?" My mother sighed, brushing my hair with her pale, fine hands.

"Meg, we must have faith. And do not fear for my safety, I am much too old to go down there again, especially now that I'm a bit…under the weather." She always understated her condition. What a strong, admirable woman my mother was!

"But then who will lead little Erik to the Phantom's lair? Surely you would not entrust such a responsibility to Raoul…"

"Of course not!" My mother was aghast. "I'm ill, not stupid! No my dear, I trust only you to take my place." I paused for a moment.

"I'm sorry, could you repeat that? I don't think I understa-"

"You, Meg! You shall have to take little Erik!" My blood froze in my veins. Why? Why would she send me down there? How had I ever admired this mad woman?

I stood, distancing myself as if she would grab me and force me down to the catacombs at any given moment. "I can't! Never! I shall never return!" My mother insisted. "You don't understand!" I cried, letting my hands drop as I turned to face her. "When I was down there, the feelings in that place… you don't even know. The emptiness, the anguish, in my entire life I have never known such utter despair! And it was not even mine!" I fell to my knees, so befuddled by my memories. "Who's? Was it the pain of his victims? Messages sent from beyond the grave by unhappy spirits of the ones he's killed?"

My mother sighed. "Meg, he will not harm you if you bring him his son. You must be firm and insist what you claim to be the truth. He will believe you. Even _he_ needs to believe in _something_. If not, what point is there to living? If there is nothing to believe in, why even exist?"

I held myself, suddenly so cold. Beyond my own fear there was another reason. Specifically a small, adorable, dangerous, sweet, brilliant, black clad, half-masked reason. The plan would rescue Christine, but what would become of little Erik? I could not deny how fond I had grown of the mini-phantom. I would not risk his safety, even if it meant abandoning my dearest friend. In truth she had done this to herself, why should little Erik be the one to pay?

"Alright! Let's go! Madame de Chagny awaits her rescue!" Little Erik entered the room, holding a rumpled little bag. His head was tilted up proudly. He was so brave, not a flicker of fear in his eyes. He would do anything for his mother, even sacrifice himself. That was how much he _loved_ her. I felt a twinge of jealousy constrict my chest, but I did not stop to contemplate why.

I felt like death's messenger as our carriage rode alone through the night. We did not speak the entire way. I feared saying goodbye would bring tears to my eyes, while little Erik could not take his mind off his mother long enough to say a word to me.

_Christine, Christine, Christine…_ I rolled my eyes at my own thoughts. It was always about her, wasn't it? When we were children it had always been about her. Poor, orphaned Christine. Pretty, promising dancer Christine. Crazy, angel-hearing Christine. Beautiful, new prima donna Christine. Of course, back then I had not felt this way. I had been more than happy to live in her shadow, so long as she was my friend and we were together. Then she had left, abandoning me. I should've known Little Meg would not be good enough for gorgeous Christine once she became a Viscountess.

But even forsaking me was forgivable. Trading little Erik and having him pay for _her_ mistakes was not.

"We're here…" Erik whispered, looking up at me with large, devoted eyes. Did he realize just what he was giving up?

I stepped out of the carriage and motioned for Erik to follow me. We entered through a secret gate my mother had shown me, leading into the chapel. The room was dark, grimy, the stones chipped and crumbling, with shards of stained glass scattered across the floor, completely forgotten, but filled with memories. It seemed ages ago I had come into this very room, innocently praising my dear almost-sister. We had been singing… we had been happy… we had been friends.

"Meg?" Little Erik asked softly, his child's voice laced with worry. "Is something wrong?" I shook my head, not trusting my voice, and was thankful for the darkness which concealed my teary eyes. "Why are you crying?" How could he see…?

I wiped my eyes quickly and gave the most false chuckle you can imagine. "Nothing. Simply dust in my eyes." I tried to check if he believed me but I could not make out his expression in the darkness. "Come, we should move along." I took his hand, grasping it tightly. Was tonight the last time I would ever see little Erik? Only now, when I was about to lose him forever, did I realize how dear he was to me. If only the Phantom would take me, I would have traded myself so that little Erik may be free.

I opened up a new path in the wall. An icy draft blew forth, causing me to shiver from more than just the cold. I squeezed little Erik's hand in mine. How could he live down here? Swallowing down a sob of desperation and pity, I continued to lead little Erik to his self-imposed imprisonment.

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As I plunged once more to the dungeons of my black despair, I relentlessly gritted my teeth. So, Antoinette meant to betray me to that fop once more? I was hardly surprised. Why wouldn't she? What had I ever been to her but a distraction? A mere obstacle, a lost dog she had rescued and grown weary of but been unable to do away with. Why would she even consider _my_ motivations? Her treachery was a given.

The only pertinent issue was _how_ they would strike. Surely Antoinette would not send the boy down to my world again. I would kill him without a thought, no matter how sweetly Christine begged or bribed me.

Oh no, Christine. I had left her alone for far too long. What if she had attempted to escape? She could harm herself!

I will not tell you the extreme measures I took to arrive in my lair as quickly as possible, but I will state my extreme anxiety when I arrived. All was still. I hurried over to her room, unbolting the door and flinging it open.

What in the seven hells…?

There sat Christine, wearing a flowery bonnet and holding a pot of steaming tea. Her eyes shone with the glimmer of mental instability. I would have been worried, had she not smiled so dearly at me. So affectionately… just like she used to before she knew… back when I was still an angel to her. Perhaps she had come to realize this was where she belonged. I had removed her from that imprudent _boy_ and her soul had returned to me willingly.

"Erik!" She squealed and ran forward, the pitter-patter of her quick footsteps echoing in the lair. "You're back. Come, I'm inviting you to an early afternoon brunch. Do you want to see what I've prepared?" She pulled me gently. I followed without question. How long I had dreamed of her skin upon mine? Admittedly my dreams involved far less innocent touches, but at the moment I was more than satisfied simply to be close enough to sense the fragrance of her hair.

"Christine…" I whispered as she sat me down at the table. My hand was slapped.

"Erik! Really, where are your manners? Respect your mother!" I raised an eyebrow. "Now don't give me that look! Be good or no licorice for _you_, young man!" Young man? Licorice? I felt my heart, or the shriveled corpse of a heart I had, become dust. She had lost her mind. First she had thought me her father, now her son. This affection was all the illusion of her psychosis. She cared nothing for me.

I buried my face in my hands, running my fingers through the wig. Not even an hour in my home and she had rather loose all reason than be in my presence. Oh Christine! I asked nothing of you but for you to love me! Love me, Christine! I wanted to shout at the top of my lungs until the catacombs caved in on us: LOVE ME, CHRISTINE!

"Erik?" her sweet, concerned, false little voice brought my eyes back up to face her. Stars, I was panting. "Oh Erik, what is the matter?" She took my hand, the one she had stricken mere moments ago, and stroked it with so much motherly concern. _Oh, why? Why _must_ you torment me so?_ It was worse than not having her here at all.

I snatched my hand away, unable to bear the sweet pain of her false touch. She had busied herself with arranging flowers—_Where in hell did she get flowers down in the fifth cellar of the opera house?_—on the table as a centerpiece and did not take notice of the anguish that _must_ have been reflected on my expression.

"Your father is late. How like him!" She smiled at me as if this was the most normal conversation, a daily routine. "He probably stopped at the hair salon again and lost track of the time. Tea?" She held the teakettle over my china cup. "It really is quite nice, though. When it's just the two of us. Don't you agree?" She paused, frowning. "Erik! Do you want tea or not?" I blinked, realizing I had left her hand hanging in midair holding the kettle.

I swallowed hard, trying to dampen my painfully constricted throat. Would I ever even sing again? "No. I am… not thirsty." She nodded in assent but poured the tea anyway. I sighed and brought the cup to my lips. _Porcelain is a poor replacement for her skin though, isn't it? Wouldn't you much rather place your lips there…? _My eyes focused on her collarbone, her perfect, delicate collarbone. I shut my eyelids tightly against the sight of her. Oh, by the end of the night one of us would surely be dead!

I opened my eyes and her distracted little gaze focused on me, a smile spread across her lips. _Yes, one of us will most definitely be dead…_ She pat my cheek affectionately. _…and it will almost certainly be me._

"Erik?" She asked suddenly. I was suffocating, unable to breathe as I watched her own chest rise and fall. How her breasts swelled with ever intake of breath… "Erik!" I forced myself to draw in a long, shuddering breath, holding it, and faced her once more. "The tea is wonderful, but where are the crumpets?"

I coughed to clear my contracted throat quickly. "I'm sorry dear, crumpets?" Her smile died. Her neck muscles tightened, her hands fisted in the most unladylike manner on her knees.

"Yes…Erik…" her words came from behind clenched teeth as she tried to maintain a smile, her upper lip twitching from the effort. "We can't have early afternoon brunch… without… the… deliciously essential… CRUMpets…" her pitch rose and fell unexpectedly on the final word. I backed my chair away slowly.

"Christine, my angel. If I may offer you some biscotti, perhaps?" A sudden swoop of her arm across the table sent my entire tea set crashing to the floor. I might have cared, seeing my china set shattered, had I not been slightly alarmed.

"Forget the goddamn biscotti! I want crumpets!" I stood, meaning to employ my height as a means to intimidate her.

"I have no crumpets; otherwise I would have brought them out for you. May I interest you in a muffin instead? I'm afraid I have no more blueberry, but my supply of lemon poppy seed is untouc—" She flipped the table over in my direction. I dodged with ease but when I came out from behind the table, I found a chair coming for me, followed by a candelabrum. Christine meant to simultaneously harm me _and_ destroy my lair?

"I don't care! I want crumpets! I can't have tea without crumpets! How can you expect me to have tea without some goddamn crumpets?"

"Blasphemy." I reminded. She replied by hurling other inanimate articles in the general direction of my head. I wove through the onslaught and caught her wrist with just enough force to splinter bone. "I will buy you some crumpets, now calm yourself!" I bellowed.

Christine sniffled, all anger evaporating instantly to be replaced with tears. "No… The moment is lost. Then will never be now again." She began to cry, on the floor with her arm stretched up over her, her wrist still in my crushing grasp.

My wrath dissolved completely and at that moment I wanted nothing more than to hold her. _To have her hold _me

"Christine…" I murmured as I crouched down beside her slowly…

Her head snapped up to attention. "Now Erik, what have I said about respecting your mother?" She stood, pulling me up with her by the ear. "And just look at this mess!" She sighed dramatically. "Such a messy child."

I wrenched myself out of her grip, ready to strangle sanity back into her, when the alarm sounded. "Wait, I think my dear, we have a guest!" I announced excitedly. "Go to your room now, I shall be there shortly. Go." I ushered her away and bolted the door behind her. Perhaps the spilled blood of her _precious_ Viscount would bring her back to her senses. Then she would need comforting, wouldn't she? _Perhaps then, my dear Christine, you could find solace in my arms. They are open and hungry for you._ I laughed as I rowed the gondola through the murky depths of the underground lake.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"This way, Erik. Don't fall behind." I warned even though my iron grip on his tiny hand would make it impossible for us to be separated anyway.

We walked together in the darkness, the flickering light of my torch our only guide. "Meg?" Little Erik whispered, not wanting to be disturbed by even his own echo. "Why exactly does this Phantom want my mother? I know there is more to all of this than anyone is saying. Who is he? What does he have to do with the Angel of Music? And with _me_ for that matter?" I sighed. I knew this would come. Nothing got past little Erik. Oh brilliant little Erik, the good martyr!

I didn't know quite how to explain it all to him. Then suddenly, the words came!

"Uh, Meg? Where is all that music coming fro—" I cut him off.

"_In sleep he sang to her. In dreams he came. That voice which called to her. And spoke her name. And though she turned from him, to marry the fop. The Phantom of the Opera is back! And he won't stop…_"

"Meg!" Little Erik tried to stop, but I pulled him along. "What are you doing? Am I the only one who thinks this breaking into song is bizarre?" I pulled him out in front of me and pushed him onward.

"_Though she left him once, she your father met. His power over her, grows stronger yet. You can call anyone, the Persian or the cops. But the Phantom of the Opera is back! And he won't stop!_"

"Who's the Persian?" I shrugged and shoved him forward. Little Erik fell to the floor. With a groan he lifted himself up, fixing me with a glare but now following me willingly.

"_Defying the Opera Ghost, we thought absurd. Yet your mom tore off his mask_…"

"It's him I heard!" Little Erik exclaimed suddenly, covering his mouth in shame for his outburst.

We turned a corner and stood, back to back. Little Erik rose his voice to join mine, having finally submitted. "_Be you dancer, singer, stage hand, or fop! The Phantom of the Opera is back! And he won't stop!_"

"_Hey guys! Where's the Phantom of the Opera?_" A voice behind us echoed. We whirled around to find a grime covered Raoul, armed with several cans of cosmetics, making an effort to catch up. "_Sorry I'm late! I'll get you Phantom of the Opera!_"

"I'll handle this." Little Erik stated casually. I waited patiently against the cold, damp wall as Little Erik tied his struggling father to nearby gargoyle statue. "Stay, father! Stay for me!" Raoul's voice made quite the interesting vocalization as he tried to pull free of his restraints, failing miserably, comically.

I laughed at the sight of little Erik dusting his hands in triumph. But my own laughter depressed me. Would I never see Raoul fall victim to his son's antics again?

I said nothing to little Erik as we continued on our descent into darkness. I didn't trust my voice. I knew if I attempted a goodbye, I would break into tears and I had to show strength when I was before the Phantom.

We arrived at the lake. The mist swirled off the rippling waters onto the bank where we stood silently, cautiously. It was time. "Oh, great Phantom!" I called into the vast emptiness. "Come, that I may speak with you on Christine's behalf!" I listened as my echo resounded around us and faded away across the lake.

"Dude, Meg. That was _lame_." Little Erik said, casting me a critical look. I rolled my eyes.

"Here Phantom! Here Phantom, Phantom, Phantom! I have something to tell you!"

"Meg!" Little Erik whined, pulling his hand out of mine. "Now you're making him sound like a dog!" I rolled my eyes.

"Fine! What do you suggest?" He shrugged, crossing his arms. "Oh, _you're_ helpful, Master Phantom summoner!" Just then a sound came from across the lake with the rippling of the water. Somewhere, hidden in the fog, someone was here. It grew louder and louder, until I knew exactly what I was listening to. The Phantom was laughing. "Erik…?" I asked timidly.

"What?" he replied timidly, hiding behind my skirts.

"What does 'dude' mean?"

The laughter grew and swelled. "I don't know!" Little Erik whimpered. "But I don't think we'll live to find out." The laughter approached, coming closer and closer, until I could feel the speaker's hot breath on my neck, causing my hair to stand on end.

"Meg…" a ragged voice whispered. I screamed and spun around, tripping on little Erik.

I opened my eyes, pointing an accusing finger. "What do you want?... Monsieur le Viscount?"

"The rope snapped." He said excitedly. "So I hurried to catch up. My turn to tie someone up!" He reached for little Erik who served him a quick fist in the gut. Raoul fell to the floor with a yelp.

"Sorry father, but it really is for your own protection." Little Erik explained, hiding Raoul under his cape.

"And why were you laughing?" I asked, still shaken.

"Laughing?" Raoul rasped, still clutching his side. "I wasn't laughing."

"No, I believe that was me." Answered a voice from behind me. My eyes locked on little Erik's. We both froze.

Next time on My Father, The Fop:

Meg: Little Erik, meet Erik. Erik, meet little Erik.

Little Erik: What in the...

Erik: ...he looks just like me!

Little Erik: MOM!

Erik: CHRISTINE!

Eriks: YOU HAVE SOME 'SPLANING TO DO!

Christine: Aw, nuts. Err, I mean crumpets.

Meg: Well, you take little Erik and I'll take Christine!

Erik: That's not a fair trade!

Meg: Sure it is! Little Erik's stats and merchandisingpossibilitiesare much higher than Christine's! If anyone's getting ripped off, it's me! Christine only has three attack points and uses an energy card everytime. Little Erik can cast "cuteness" without resorting to hanging his mouth open and using breasts!

Raoul: What breasts?

Christine: HEY!

Erik: Hey! The fop said something remotely intelligent!

Little Erik: Let's throw him a party!

All Except Christine: YAY!

Christine: Oh, bugger...

Review! It really helps! You are what motivated to post this chapter! Don't worry, my "twin" should be back by the end of this week!


	15. Episode 14

Stares nervously at angry readers with their crossed arms and tapping feet, specifically Spinder UndeadBallerina with her wagging finger. "Well... it's been a while, hasn't it?" Is answered by a very loud "YES!"

I see... well, I have a reason. I really do. You see, I was not supposed to be typing stories since finals are coming up and me tyranical mom wants me to study... so I had to sneak on every time I added even a little paragraph. So, sorry it took so long but...here it is! I'm trying, I really am!

**GGChallengeEverything:** Twiny! You gave me my first flame! NOOO! (Goes to hang self) Oh, what? You said just kidding? Oh... heh...

**Mooogan: **Thanks! I will. Your name makes me want steak for some reason...

**wendela: **Well, not exactly soon...

**Lady Gwyneth: **Your final request before death was to review my story. Wow... what an honor. Either that or you have to work out your priorities :)

**Chocola: **Well... I'll take your Raoul card if you really want me to... HA! FOOL! Raoul's "Super Fop" attacl beats everything! Except jars...

**Spinder-UndeadBallerina: **(Strokes DVD as well) Yes, lovely, lovely DVD. My preeeeeciousssss...

**Virginia Wildchild: **So what's up with this nominations thing? Is there a site where I can check out what other stories are nominated? I'm _extremely_ honored to be a part of it all. Ah, flattery will get you an update...

**Angel-of-Music1331:** (Pokes you with a stick)Suspense kill you yet? If not, here's the next chapter.

**Baffled Seraph: **Yes, Christine IS scary. What with he huge, vacant eyes and large, always parted mouth, and her... oh, you meant the crumpets thing. Heh...heh... yeah, that's what I meant.

**Kristin: **Tankyou dahhhling!

**kristinekat13: **Ya know, I've never had crumpetseither. I've SEEN them, but whenever I get close enough to EAT one I start laughing too hard to chew. Don't know why exactly... go figure.

**Han Futsu Anti Normal: **Ahh! No! Split sides? Why do all my readers alwayd DIE? (Erik: I think it's just a figure of speech)...I knew that...

**ahm not logged in. uh-huh: **WHO ARE YOU? j/k. lol

**CoolGirlEmily:** Yay! Not just love, but lurve! That's like... three times more love than usual!

**LoverofBalto: **Yeah, that's about the jist of things. I shouldput your recap at the beginning of the story; "Incase you just tuned in!..." etc.

**Tsunami Wave: **I know! I hate cliffhangers!Well, I hate reading them. They are deliciously fun to write, though.

**Invader Vega: **Yes... (Sigh) One of the great ones. Muffins rule...

**Weird Kitty: **I might just mention the managers. Firmin and Andre are funny without even trying... Lets just see what happens.

**Madelynne Rae: **Phew...good. I was worried it kicked ass in the worst way imaginable. That's pretty bad.

**pemberlee: **Meg and Li'l Erik team up against the forces of fopiness! But now they face a new challenge, Erik the Phantom! Dun dun duuuun!

**Moon Avenger: **But... I want Erik! I'm mature enough for him! I AM! DON'T SAY THAT IM NOT! I want him I want him I want him!

**Willow Rose: **Next chapter! You and Ann are in! Next chapter! Yay! Just wait and see what role I have in store... and yes, there will be gelatin. I like strawberry too...

**musicallover: **Erik isn't dead. Little Erik isn't really his reincarnation, he's Erik's son. Christine assumed he was Erik's reincarnation, but she was wrong. Yeah, it's supposed to be that one big plot twist that completely alters a soap opera, sometimes they're good sometimes they kill the story. Hope this one didn't do too much damage.

**Countess Vladislaus Dragu: **Really, I think they could just STARE at him long enough and he'd freak out.

**carkeys: **There you are! I've been looking for you all week! Finally I can drive somewhere!

**gavvie: **No! Don't die! Not my readers! No! (Erik: Again, figure of speech) ... stop that.

**someone: **WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE? Err... I mean, thanks! Glad you liked it... you... someone person...

**RozzandMaya: **Aww, couldn't you picture Erik as a father? Taking his son out and teaching him how to extort managers or hang stage hands... yeah... No son, it's all in the wrist. Good job! You broke his neck! C'mere! (Is now seriously disturbed)

**letthedreamdescend: **Well, at least Raoul didn't have to vocalize the Steve Harely version... with the cheesy 80's background and butterknives!

**The Singing Fox Demon: **(Tries to think of excuse to make for taking so long to update... but mind goes blank) Damnit! Well, here's this one! Better? BETTER? Please say it's better!

**frigidhart :** As you wish! And the answer is , interesting stories usually have cliffhangers.

**Episode 14**

I couldn't move. He was right behind me. The damn bloody Phantom of the Opera was right behind me… humming? I slowly turned, trying to regain my composure, and found him… yes, humming!

"Monsieur… err… monsieur le Fantome?" I said for lack of a better surname. "Are you… humming?" He smirked, uncrossing his arms to stare down at me.

"Yes, I believe I am. You see, I am not a very patient man and you are _boring_ me, Mademoiselle Giry." My skin crawled. The way he called me mademoiselle Giry, exactly like little Erik. It was too much. Still, I tried to remain calm. _Strength, Meg, strength._

"M-monsieur." I smiled, though mentally I was kicking myself for that stutter. "I am here to speak with you… on behalf of Christine." Should I act demanding? Amiable? Should I beg or should I order? What would work best? What wouldn't get me _killed_?

He leaned, looking behind me at the crumpled cape which concealed Raoul. His eyes narrowed, though he did not make any move. Oh, how had I ever let my mother talk me into this? "Monsieur?" I asked quietly. He moved back, turning his attentions back to me, and granted me a death glare. I winced as if his eyes alone could burn me. It did not escape me how those two glowing orbs of blue sparkled, clearer and deeper than the lake. How could something so beautiful belong to such a monstrosity? It was a question Christine had often asked me, only in regards to his voice.

"What...!" he paused, lowering his voice to a low, rich growl, "do you want?" I swallowed and licked my lips, my entire mouth dry and sandy. _Courage, Meg, courage._

"I'm here to make you a trade." He rolled his eyes and I swore I saw him mouth the words 'This should be interesting'. Still, I continued. "Christine for… your son." For a moment no one moved, even the lake seemed to cease rippling. The mist stood so still that after a while I began to believe it was painted on the walls. Even Raoul, who was 'secretly' painting his nails under little Erik's cape, which really only concealed his hair making it a useless hiding place, stopped to listen intently.

We hung on the chirping of the crickets, which seemed to have followed us from the house. The stillness was closing in on me, ready to consume me. Oh, say something already! Whatever evil, undeniable, agonizing, torturous, murderous, blood curdling words you may have in store, Phantom, say them now!

"…wait, what?" he said, blinking. "My… son? I don't have a… Mademoiselle Giry, if you mean to let me keep Christine if I grant you our firstborn, then you are even madder than I."

"No! I mean the son you already have! I will give him to you in exchange for Christine." His eyebrow, the visible one, lifted up quite a few centimeters. He brought up a gloved hand to push it down.

"Uh…huh…" He exhaled sharply, beginning to seem quite annoyed. "Mademoiselle, I do not know what sort of fool you take me for, but surely your mother must be missing you. You should return to her immediately, you will find that lingering may prove to be more dangerous than our… _pleasant_ conversation reveals." I groaned, exasperated.

"No, I'm serious! My mother sent me here! Look!" I pushed little Erik out in front of me. "He is Christine's son, and yours."

"I KNEW IT!" Raoul shouted from under the cape.

"No, you didn't." Little Erik spat, a newfound hatred for his father building up behind his eyes. "You didn't know."

"Know what?" Raoul asked, forgetting all about hiding and sitting on top of the cape to prevent from soiling his clothes.

"That he was the Phantom's son." I said, irritated myself.

"Wait, who was what now?" Raoul tilted is head to the side, in a way which would have been cute had it not been a full grown man! Especially a full grown fop.

"Moving on!" I turned back to the Phantom, who met me with an amused smirk.

"Really, mademoiselle. Your mother must be desperate. So you found some street urchin who is unfortunate enough to somewhat resemble me and gave him a mask. Forgive me if I am not only not convinced, but rather insulted. What does she take me for? To think that I would… violate Ms _Daae._" he said with emphasis though Raoul didn't catch the use of his wife's maiden name.

What now? I told my mother this wouldn't work! And now I had angered him! I was going to die! I was going to die! Was that the lasso in his hands? I _was_ dead!

I began to shake uncontrollably; my palms became clammy and damp. I wasn't ready to die. Not yet. Not now. My neighbor owed me five francs.

Through the terror-induced fog in my brain, causing the scene before me to drag painfully, I noticed little Erik step forward, his hand on his right cheek, and pull of the mask.

The great Phantom of the Opera was stopped in his tracks. A little four year old boy had, for the moment, conquered him.

"But…how?" The deformity, hidden from my view since I stood behind little Erik, must have seemed all too familiar to the Opera Ghost. His eyes widened with an emotion I never knew he could possess; shock.

There was nothing left but for me to answer his question just as my mother had instructed me to, and pray that he would believe…

"Monsieur. How many times have you dreamed of… of that which would result in this child? How many a sleepless night have you spent fantasizing of Christine…?" I blushed, knowing the improper meaning behind my words. But there was no help for it. It had to be done. "Imagine, monsieur, that one of these times was _not_ a dream. What if Christine really did return to you?" His eyes, those beautiful, horrifying eyes, latched onto me.

I knew what he was asking, what more he wanted to know. Oh, why did I have to be the one? What had I done to deserve this?

"You see, soon after leaving you, Christine went quite mad. I'm not sure if it was confusion, fear, or guilt that drove her to madness, but she was always going on about angels of music in her closet and crumpets under her bed." I sighed, averting my eyes, trying to break the strange spell he seemed to cast on me. "Her illness only worsened, no matter what the finest doctors tried…"

"Oh, I remember that!" Raoul exclaimed, quite pleased with himself. The sound of a rope whipping through the air and a slight choking sound told me he would not interrupt again.

"So my mother had an idea." I continued, still not daring to take my gaze away from my sullied shoes. "She brought Christine down here one night. You were still too feverish… you didn't know quite what was happening; you thought it all a dream. But for one night… she was yours." My voice began to waver. Suddenly, unexpectedly, I felt… pity for this monster. He had been forced to lose the woman he loved _again_. The woman he had killed for.

"In the morning, before you awoke, my mother brought her back to the surface. She had little to no memory of what had transpired during her madness. Still, unconsciously, she seemed to find closure. Her health finally returned so she and the Viscount were married."

"And then we lived happily ever after!" The bright coloring on his nails had reminded Raoul to keep his hand at the level of his eyes this time. "Wait, did we? Where's our palace?"

I sighed and looked up at the infamous Phantom of the Opera, the man who had been about to take my life. I didn't know what I'd find; anger, anguish, love, hope, betrayal, despair, anything! Anything except what I found. He was smirking. The horrid, heart stopping smirk of his. Hadn't he heard a word I said? Did he care?

"Amusing as your story may be, Marguerite," His use of my name reminded me to breathe and I took a deep breath, realizing I had been depriving myself of oxygen for the last few seconds. "I still find no reason why I should make this trade. Of what concern is this little whelp to me?"

Now it was little Erik's turn to take the stand. He replaced his mask and grabbed the Phantom's cape, tugging fiercely. "She is my mother!" He cried. "You have no right to imprison her! If you must take someone, then take me! But let her go!" The Phantom pulled his cape away sharply, causing little Erik to stumble onto the floor. No one made any move to help him stand.

Not that little Erik waited for help anyway. He stood on his own, his face muddy but stern. His eyes were tearful but filled with rage. He was an exact reflection of the Phantom!

The same thought must have passed through the Phantom's mind, for suddenly something in his eyes changed. Some emotion, which did not remain long enough to be identified, flickered behind his irises.

I watched, not really even registering what was happening, as the Phantom stepped towards me. He was so much taller than Christine, and I was even shorter than her! He did not stop until he towered over me and brought his face a breath's away from mine.

"Is this true?" He whispered, his eyes boring into my soul and leaving no chance of lying.

"I…" It was all a lie, a bluff. My mother had invented it right then and there, for this plan…

…hadn't she?

"I don't know… My mother told me to say these things… I don't know. I didn't think, but it makes sense. It explains everything!" I shook my head, a frustrated child. I must have been babbling like a moron.

But he seemed to understand and backed away, now imposing his impressive height over little Erik.

The stillness returned. With a quick glare from the Phantom, even the crickets ceased chirping.

There was nothing left for me to say. I had done exactly as my mother had instructed.

Now everything hung on one word from this ghost, this madman. Yes or no? Angel, I hear you. Speak, I listen.

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A lie. An inane bluff. Honestly, Antoinette had insulted me this time. But that face… that face which haunted even my own sleepless nights…

It could be no other's. This small, dependant creature, this _runt_, was my son.

_Our son…_

Oh, Christine…

And she had loved him. Seeing how he demanded her safe return, was willing to sacrifice himself for her… She had loved him.

I suppose I should have smiled, should have felt immense joy in knowing that his face, _my_ face, could be accepted, even if only by Christine. But all I felt was unbearable envy and a knife of agony cutting through my chest. Then it was not my face Christine had been frightened of…

_This haunted face, holds no horror for me now…_ I was a monster, but not only because of my face. I was a beast, a demons destined for the pits of hell.

_It's in your soul, that the true distortion lies…_ Yes, my damned soul could never create anything pure. Even my music was tainted now by me rage and my regret. And my son, my only son… I had cursed this poor, brave child with my face.

Oh, Christine…!

I would not relinquish Christine! Couldn't they see I had nothing else? She was all I asked, nothing more. Just allow me this one indulgence, this one glimpse at happiness.

I knew if she remained she would only grow ill. I had already sampled her madness in its early stages. If something was not done she would slip beyond where she could be helped.

But if I released her she would never return. I would lose her all over again. I would not condemn myself again! I already had hell awaiting me; I refused to torment myself as the world had tormented me.

But as the boy picked himself off the ground, wiping his grimy little face with his round, weak little hands, an idea blossomed. A brilliant idea. Of course all my ideas were brilliant. Except for killing Bouquet in front of Christine… and letting her remove my mask… and letting her remove my mask again on stage… and not killing the fop when I had the chance… and murdering Piangi but not hiding his body… and letting Giry show the fop the way to my lair… oh, and dropping that chandelier… and not killing Carlotta when I had the chance… and not killing Marguerite here as soon as I saw her and allowing her to inform me of all this nonsense… and pretty much existing all together!

Oh yes, I was about to announce my brilliant idea. Well, with the exception of every mistake I'd ever made, which really were more the faults of others than my own, all of my ideas had been brilliant. Especially this one. I would keep this boy; I had every right to as his father, and release Christine. She would recover from her madness and seek out her son. That would require her return! Yes, she would return for her son! For _our_ son!

And then she would love me. She would have to. If not, her son would pay for it, the world would. She had learned before not to cross me. She would not forget!

So I looked at little, mucky Meg, covered in filth, and gave her a curt nod.

She made no move so I left to retrieve Christine, telling he Marguerite had crumpets for her. The exchange was made and I watched silently as the two former dancers disappeared from sight.

"Wait a minute…" Said a still present, infuriatingly slow, Viscount. "You're the Phantom of the Opera!" I sighed and shoved the masked boy into the gondola. "Come back here! Give me back my slipper!" I did not even dignify his demand with a response, though my Punjab lasso itched to do so.

From the distance I noticed Marguerite return to retrieve the Viscount. The girl had her hands full, babysitting my slightly-off beloved and her moronic _husband_. How I despised that _boy_! Besides wrenching Christine from my grasp, it was quite insulting to know you had lost the only person you actually _cared_ about to such a… a… a _fop_!

But it seemed the lot of them was deadest on insulting me lately. I must have been quite entertaining to poke at since the world kept coming back for more.

I docked the gondola, none too gently, and stepped out, completely ignoring the boy. I stood by the organ, arms crossed warning that if he kept me waiting there would be punishment, but at the same time once he stepped into my world there was no going back.

To his credit, the boy only hesitated for a moment before hopping out onto the grainy, wet shore, testing the way his small feet sunk into the soft sand.

Then he turned back to the boat. I uncrossed my arms and stalked over, thinking him about to attempt a retreat. Instead he pulled out a black suitcase, bulging with what I could only assume were his personal belongings.

"What's this?" I snapped, snatching the bundle from out of his tiny grasp. He tried to retrieve it, but found speed and size to my advantage.

"My things. Clothes and such. Give it back!" He was growing braver. Good lad. Perhaps then he _was_ my son after all.

But regardless whether or not I cared for the whelp, for really I saw no reason for why I _should_ care, I loathed the idea of that damned fop fathering him. I knew whatever lay tucked away in the folds of cloth the boy used as a suitcase, had been given to him by that impudent Viscount! No matter if I wanted the boy _dead_; I would not have anything of mine accepting charity from _Raoul_! Without another word I flung the suitcase into the middle of the lake.

The boy tried to chase after it but I grabbed his cape and yanked him back, finding a cruel, cynical sort of amusement in seeing him fall to the floor, face up in dirt.

"What have you done?"

"You are in my world now. You must forsake all you know of your former life, or drown in the lake with it." I said, devoid of any sympathy.

He curled up in a ball, his façade of strength finally dissolving. "I want to go home! I want Maman!" The sound of choked sobs filled my lair, a sound my walls had become quite used to echoing. Still I found no empathy for the pitiful ball of tears. This runt was simply a reminder of what I could not have, of what could never be mine. And his pain brought memories of myself to surface which were better left buried in the farthest, darkest corners of my mind. Still, I would rather have him suffer than see him under the care of Christine's… _husband_.

It occurred to me suddenly that I did not know _how_ to care for a child. It was not the sort of subject one read about in books, which were the main source of my knowledge. At the same time I could not follow the example of my own childhood, for the mere of idea of Christine coming down to reclaim her son and finding him strung up in a cage made me wince.

So, when it cried, what was I supposed to do? I figured I should say something, but I could not find any fitting words. Instead I opted for nudging him a bit with my boot. No reaction.

"Get up!" I bellowed. The boy scrambled to his feet and stumbled over to a corner, trying to separate himself from me. Fool, he was in my world now. There was nowhere he could go that I could not follow. Now, what to do with… _it_? "Go… to bed." Yes, that would rid me of it for the time being.

"But… it's barely eight." Strange how fear could evaporate so quickly in a child when they chose to be defiant.

"I _said_ to bed! Unless you'd much rather make yourself useful and clean the torture chamber?" The threat had its desired effect, and the boy slinked away in the direction I pointed. I hated to have him lying in Christine's bed, but I could hardly have him sleep in the spare room. My coffin was in there and I did want Christine to return and find her son the least bit traumatized I could manage. I did realize just how futile this goal was, but I humored myself.

I figured composition would help ease my tensions, for tense I was. Living in complete solitude after the Opera House had been shut down; I suddenly reclaim Christine, discover I have a son, almost kill my rival, frighten away the little Giry, _and_ gain custody over my progeny. It was enough to upset even one so used to fate's ironic and malicious sense of humor.

I had only worked on one piece. Since my ingénue's departure I had scarcely been able to compose at all. The exception, an anguished, embittered, and shamefully begging piece it was… written for the woman who wanted nothing to do with me… who had…

"HEY!"

…who had cursed me with a lesser version of myself. Of all people in the world, with exception of the Viscount, there was no one I _detested_ more than myself!

"What? Didn't I tell you to go to bed?" I growled though clenched teeth.

"You didn't tell me a bedtime story." _It_ said. I stormed into the room, finding the boy tucked in as if right at home, and glowered at him.

"What?" was the most I could get out in my rage.

"My mother always tells me a bedtime story when I can't sleep. Well, I can't sleep. So now it's your responsibility." I could only stare for a moment, shocked by the child's audacity.

"You… want _me_… to… tell _you_… a STORY?" I stuttered out stupidly. Yes, inflections of Christine were present in his personality. Only she could prompt such a reaction in me.

"Yes." He answered matter-of-factly.

"No." I replied, matter-of-factly.

"What? You _have_ to!" He began whining.

One abrupt chuckle exploded from my lungs. This mere _babe_ meant to demand something of _me_? Of the infamous Opera Ghost? The boy narrowed his eyes and dug his little fists into the velvet bedspread.

"I hate it when people laugh at me." He muttered dangerously. I paused. Now _that_ was a tick of personality which had plagued me all my life. "You have to tell me a story… or else I'll…" he looked up at me, an evil smirk I recognized as my own spreading across his face. "I'll stay up all night and bothering you when you're composing!" I am unsure if it was the threat, the sheer nerve it took for him to threaten me, or the grin which was eerily like my own which made me concede. The again, I was also tired. That must have been it. I just wanted the brat to go to sleep and leave me to my own devices!

"Fine! I shall read you one story, but one alone! And only for tonight! Never again!" I moved to stand and go to the bookshelf, but the whelp stopped me.

"No! You have to tell it! Not read it! It has to be made up, off the top of your head! That way I know it's from the heart. It also prevents copyright infringement." I sat on the bed, attempting to intimidate him with a glare but really too tired to do so.

"Why?"

"Because."

"Why?"

"Because it's the rules."

"_Why_?"

"Because… I don't know! I don't make the rules! I just follow them! Geez, is _that_ what I sound like?" he shouted, shaking angry little fists in the air. They were so small… I was sure I could pop his entire hand in my mouth like a crumpet. Damn it! Must my mind always wander to Christine?

"I am not going to sit here and play your little games! You forget too soon, you are _my_ prisoner." I made to stand again, but a little gloved caught my wrist. It was an awkward sensation, not only because I was unused to being touched, but because of the _way_ he grabbed me. He clung, so needily, as if afraid that the shadows themselves would swallow up his small, helpless form once I left.

_Oh, Christine… _Once she had needed me this way, needed her angel to guard her. Before she had her prince charming, or Viscount charming, she had an angel. Or more appropriately a demon with an angel's voice, who loved her and ached for her in every twisted muscle of his burning flesh.

How could I deny him? For in him there was also Christine, and at that moment she shined through in his vulnerable, frightened eyes.

I sat down quietly and waited for him to release his hold on me. Slowly he did and looked down at his hands, ashamed, I would think. "Only one." I whispered, leaving no room for discussion. He nodded numbly. Now that I actually took the time to consider it, he was extremely strong. He could be no more than four and he had been ripped away from all he knew and loved to live with a murderous monster, yet he refused to fall part. I cleared my throat. "Once upon a time…"

"How cliché." He interrupted. A silence.

"As I was _saying_, once upon a time there was a boy named Erik."

"Wow, that's original!" he interjected again.

I continued, refusing to let him bother me. "He lived with his father… Erik."

"Brilliant, William Shakespeare! Is his mother's name Erik too?"

I slammed my fist against the head of the swan bed. "That's it! I'm leaving!"

The whelp now slammed his fist, immediately pulling it back in pain, and glared up at me. "You can't leave! If you don't tell me a story, I won't be able to go to sleep. I'll stay up all night and bother you when you're composing!"

"I don't care!" I bellowed, way past my limit of patience. "Die down here for all it concerns me, I won't spend another moment playing your games!"

"No wait!" he cried out, his sarcasm suddenly gone and his vulnerability coming to surface. "I'm sorry. I'm won't interrupt anymore." I inspected him for a moment, trying to gauge his level of sincerity. Finally satisfied with his remorse, I took a seat _again_.

"Well, the three of them lived merrily in their lair in the fifth cellar of the former Paris Opera House." I waited for his sardonic remark. None came. "…yes, and…" he looked up at me, waiting for me to continue with his head slightly tilted to the side. He seemed… cute. Surely, that was Christine's doing, for nothing charming could have sprouted from me. "Everything was perfect, except for a villain who was bent on destroying their harmonious lives." His eyes shone with excitement. Now for the antagonist. "An evil, machiavellic Viscount who wanted to tear the family away from each other!" Mid sentence he broke into laughter.

"An evil Viscount? I know you're not talking about Raoul!" I grunted derisively. "You do? How anticlimactic. My father couldn't swat a fly. He'd be too afraid to dirty his gloves." I realized that the words 'my father' must have slipped out and that the runt didn't even seem to know he had said them, but by then my rage was nearly boiling. I could take no longer.

"Enough!" I stood abruptly, knocking a few pillows to the floor to land softly upon the stone cold floor. Without another word I began to storm out of the room, until a high, mocking voice stopped me at the exit.

"Nah-uh-uh! No story, no sleep. I'll just stay up all night and bother you while you're composing." _That_ was the _last_ straw! I could practically hear the whistling of a kettle inside my head and feel steam running out of my ears.

I faced the boy with a snarl of a smile. With as much icy calm as I could muster, I uttered, "If you bother me, even once, while I'm composing, then I'll _kill_ you!"

"…Goodnight papa!" he said and lay his head down to sleep, pulling up the covers to his chin.

Parenting was not so difficult after all.

Review and the world shall sparkly with my next update! Review not, and the update may just take me another two weeks! Muahahahahaha! (Erik: Tch, you call THAT maniacle laughter?) Shouldn't you be out stalking Christine or something? (Erik:... she locked her window...) Aww... poor Erik. Here's a crowbar. Knock yourself out.


	16. Episode 15

Terribly sorry for the long wait! But when I finally returned I found that fanfiction(dot)net had removed one of my stories, my favorite one too,due to its format and it completely took away my will to write. But I returned because I knew yoou'd be waiting and I hate to dissapoint you!

Plus my EVIL older brother swung by for a visit and officially addicted me to the show Naruto and I now feel the urge to write a fic consuming me... CURSE YOU BROTHER! I need more episodes...

I kinda cut this chapter in half... just for the hell of having another cliffhanger... (Ducks various objects being thrown at her, most of them from Willow Rose) Hee... hee...

Also.. SPIFFY! Hi! I'm so glad you liked my stories! I miss you so much! And don't worry, I'll never get sick of hearing from you! Believe me, I can be so much worse... (Flashes toothy grin)

But here I am delaying you when all you want is the story. Hereit is! Mi padre, el Fop!

**Episode 15**

I woke up to the feeling of warm, soft, velvety sheets around me. Now I knew I couldn't be in my room, my sheets were silk. I sat up, rubbing my eyes and blinking several times. My room was dark, as it usually was, but even darker than usual. No light streamed in through my window. I didn't even _have_ a window anymore. And my bed was no longer a bed, but some kind of deranged… _bird_. "What the…" It suddenly came to me. Everything. My mother being kidnapped, my plan to rescue her, Meg leading me down to the cellars of the Opera House, my father being a fop, and the phantom! I was in the Phantom's lair.

I drew in a quick breath. Where was he now? Was he watching me, even as I sat here? A sound came from the next room. Music… like my piano only… different. It wasn't as pure, as sweet as my piano. The sound was harsher, more discordant. The Phantom was composing.

I stood, feeling the plush, exotic rug beneath me feet, and made my way out of the room. I would not fear this Phantom. After all, he thought I was his son. He wouldn't harm _me_, would he?

The entrance room was so surreal, almost like a dream world. Fog billowed out from the lake, candles flickering all around… Words began to form in my head and I fought hard only to say them, not sing them.

"I remember there was mist… swirling mist upon a big, scummy lake. There where candles everywhere, and I mean _everywhere_. The whole place was a _major_ fire hazard. And on the lake there was a boat, well more of a gondola really. And in the gondola-thingy there was…" I turned and found him, scribbling on a sheet of paper. "…you."

He paused for a moment, his shoulder tensing in annoyance, but then continued. I considered going back to my room and keeping quiet until he was done, but I was hungry. My father's servants would have had breakfast prepared for me by now. Before he began playing again, I hopped down the steps and tugged on his sleeve. He ignored me. I narrowed my eyes in indignation. "Excuse me, monsieur Phantom!" I said, as annoying as I could manage.

His face, the uncovered side, twisted into the most irritated frown I had ever seen. Still he made no move to acknowledge my presence.

"Pardon me! Monsieur!" I tugged harder. The Phantom simply shook me off and continued writing, as if I was a fly buzzing in his workspace. But I would not be so easily deterred.

I jumped up and snatched off his mask, running down the steps, giggling madly. With a near inhuman roar of fury he was up, knocking the bench to the floor. My amusement dissolved as he rounded on me, infuriated. I noticed, wondering as to the reason, that he hid the right side of his face with his hand.

"You… little… HELLION!" he raged at me, his heavy footsteps echoing menacingly through the lair as he came towards me, his posture seething with hatred and threat. In his eyes I saw pure, raw rage, as I had never seen before. Even my father, the day he had left me to find my own way home, had never _ever_ held such anger in his eyes. I tried to think of someone, _anyone_. The closest I could come was to Aunt Isabelle when I had humiliated her at her own party, but ever her anger seemed childish and laughable compared to the blazing wrath which flamed in his contrastingly cool, blue eyes.

He grabbed me harshly under my arms and yanked me up full force, shaking me in front of his face, shouting so loud I though my eardrums would burst, his usually musical voice now possessing a grating metallic quality. "Why? You, of all people! Why? What is wrong with you?" He dropped me carelessly, storming over to a covered mirror and ripping off the sheet. The shattered image before him seemed to feed some sick pleasure of his, and he smiled… only it wasn't a happy smile. I can't really explain it; I had never seen anything like it before. I only knew that it frightened me, even more than the veins bulging and pulsing from his forehead and neck.

I didn't understand why he was so mad! True, I couldn't stand it when other people touched my mask. I might've become angry, but nothing like this. I stood, my legs and back complaining from hitting the floor so hard. My sides throbbed from where he had gripped me.

I watched, confused and scared like I had never been, as the monster before me suddenly crumpled and fell to his knees, holding his forehead and breathing raggedly. "Just like your mother…" he rasped. "For a moment I thought… It was that day all over again… Oh, Christine…" Then, he stopped. As suddenly as his wrath had arisen, it vanished. He stood, his face stoic and unfeeling, and walked over to where I stood, tears of my own streaming silently down my cheeks. He bent down ungracefully and snatched up his mask, which in my terror I had dropped. He did not even look at me, but sat back at his organ.

In a few moments he was playing again, as if nothing had ever happened. I was scared, so scared. If he could so easily switch between emotions, as if it meant nothing, would he hesitate in striking me the next time?

"I'm sorry… monsieur Phantom…" I murmured softly. "I just wanted your attention… I was only playing…" he pressed the keys harder, making the music play louder than before. It took me a moment to realize he was trying to play over my voice.

My hunger forgotten, I retreated back into my room, hiding under the coves, closing my eyes shut and praying that somehow I would be home when I opened them.

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Forty eight hours: the time it took Christine to sort out her thoughts and realize everything that had happened and what was happening.

Philippe: the first person she asked to see.

Raoul: the only person who forgot what really happened in the Phantom's lair and, consequently, invented a story in which he rescued Christine from the clutches of her malformed captor.

Pity: what my mother felt for, surprisingly, both Christine and the Phantom through all of this.

Worry: what was eating at the recesses of my mind every night as I tried to sleep, but failed.

Crumpets: what was eating at the recesses of Christine's mind every night as she tried to sleep, and succeeded.

Little Erik: the one I was forced to remind everyone of after two weeks.

Holy s—: the not-very-lady-like exclamation that escaped from Christine's dainty lips as she figured out who was missing.

My eyes: what I rolled as I threw up my hands in exasperation and left the room to talk with my mother.

There, now that I've explained how everything had been going these past two weeks, I can continue. As I stated earlier, I left the room, utterly frustrated with Christine's inability to do anything but cry about the loss of her son, and went to speak with my mother.

My mother seemed eerily calm through all of this. It was as if she had planned everything, as if these events were preordained by her… or at least as if she had a copy of the script which was our lives.

"We have to do something!" I insisted. "Two weeks alone down there? I would've died! Now you expect this child to survive down there in darkness, with a monster?"

"Mon petite, hush for a moment." My mother said, brushing a strand of hair from her face and taking a sip of tea. "If you are willing to dedicate yourself, then there may be hope yet." I breathed deeply, praying that my mother still had an ace up her sleeve. "Alright…" she began, putting on her spectacles and flipping through a… was that a script?

"Give me that!" I said, tossing the manuscript into the trash bin. "I'm serious here!"

"Very well Meg, but I can still read the cue cards."

"Read what you like, just help me out here!" I demanded, amazed by my own audacity.

"Patience, child! You must be patient. Now, if you are willing to go back down there…"

"What? Never!" Only a mad woman would return….

"Not even for Little Erik?"

…or a woman who loved her child very much. It must have been my biological clock speaking, but I felt so much as if Little Erik had become less of a sibling figure and more like my own son. My maternal core trembled at the very thought.

"But I can't go back…" I murmured. "He'll kill me."

"Don't be ridiculous!" My mother almost laughed! Imagine! Laughing at the thought of my death! "Just tell him that if he kills you I'll tell you-know-who about you-know-what."

I stared blankly.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"He'll know." My mother said ominously.

"… You're bluffing again, aren't you?"

"Ah! But he doesn't have to know that!"

I slammed my head against the wall in an effort to quell the ever growing desire to shoot everyone I associated with besides Little Erik.

But if I didn't at least try then it was as good as condemning Little Erik to death. Or worse, to life in that hell. I couldn't do that. Not because I was particularly brave or strong or smart, but because I was French and thus extremely stereotypically passionate. Also, part of it may have been attributed to a blonde moment.

So I descended into darkness once more, never guessing how familiar these catacombs would become to me soon.

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"Monsieur Le Fantome!" she _wanted_ to die… It was the only explanation I could come up with. "Monsieur!" I wouldn't kill her quickly… oh no. I'd make it long, painful and _annoying_! Just… like… her! "Monsieur, I know you saw me! It's hard to miss a soaking wet former dancer wading in the lake just outside the big gate you have for a front door. Besides, you cringe every time I talk. Now if you would be so kind to let me in before I catch my death?" Somehow suicidal just didn't seem to capture the essence of Meg Giry at that moment.

I pulled the lever to raise the portcullis anyway. Perhaps she had brought news of Christine.

"Monsieur, first allow me to apologize for disturbing you. Believe me I meant no disrespect!" This was amusing… I sat back, arms crossed. She was speaking very rapidly and had her eyes averted. She must have been terrified. Then why was she here? "Here, I brought you a fruits basket to make up for it. However I ate the fruits on the way here out of female nervousness and the basket was ruined in the lake so it's really just a soggy bundle of straw. Is Little Erik here?" I dropped the soggy bundle of straw she offered me on the floor and vaguely pointed in the direction of the bedroom.

"I sent him there the first day. A time-out of sorts, he was being very capricious. He hasn't made a sound since." The little rat's eyes suddenly filled with alarm, well, alarms that was not for her own well-being.

"What? You can't just leave a child locked up in a bedroom for two weeks!" She rushed forward; I made no attempt to stop her. Gauging her uncharacteristic bravery, I came to the conclusion that the fruits basket must've originally contained a rather large bottle of wine as well. That and the fact that she stumbled on a stair… after she had already climbed the stairs, that is. With a disinterested shrug I returned to my composing. I would deal with her later, For now let her handle the problem of the brat.

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I dashed into the room, fumbling with the doorknob for a moment, before slamming it open. There, on the bed, laying face down in a tiny black heap, was little Erik.

"Little Erik!" I cried, running to his side and turning him onto his back. Two dull, eyes stared back at me from a thin, pale, lifeless face. "No…" I pulled him onto my lap, trying to will the images away. "I'm too late…" I felt the tears pouring down my cheeks long before I even registered that I was crying.

"I'll say…" the pseudo-corpse on my lap rasped out. "I'm starving."

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And just when I thought I had rid myself of both little Giry and the child, out came Marguerite, charging like a furious bull and snorting in my general direction. "How dare you? He could have died! He _would_ have died had I come any later!"

"Don't you lecture me…" I said calmly. "You will find it does not agree with your health." I would've snapped her thin, frail little neck in two, or three, or four pieces. I could've done so quite easily. In fact I wanted to. But having had lost myself in composition for the previous two weeks, with no break in between, I was terribly weakened.

Luckily the stupid little Giry did not know this.

I rested my pounding head on the desk watching, more out of lack of having anywhere to place my gaze than out of interest, as the ninny made out a meal for the brat. I'm not certain exactly when I lost consciousness. All I know was that I was suddenly not at my desk anymore. I was in blackness, and I was falling…

The next thing I knew I had been, presumably dragged, to the edge of the lake where my head had been dunked into the freezing waters of the lake until I returned to my senses. I had a good mind to yell at the ninny and lecture _her _on the dangers of submerging an unconscious person in water, but my now excruciating head ache had other plans.

"It's alright." She said, supposedly in a soothing manner. "You just rest yourself. I'll take Little Erik until you are well again."

"Don't… you… dare!" I shouted, sitting up abruptly and a lurch of my stomach immediately making me regret it.

"I will return him!" She said innocently, nervously shuffling her feet. "Only until you feel well."

"You won't take him!" Why was I yelling? I was only making matters worse for myself.

"But you can't even tend to yourself in this state! He's just a _baby_! He needs someone to care for him!"

"No… He can't go back to Christine! Christine can never know he left!" I doubted I could stand, not in this state. Damn, how had I been reduced to an _invalid _at the mercy of this flighty little… fopette?

"I am _not_ a fopette!" she retorted. Apparently I had muttered my thoughts aloud. "Yes apparently." Damn it! "Stop using such language in front of the child!"

Alright, I simply had to calm myself; a few deep breaths… dispelling any pleasant thoughts of murderous vengeance… unclenching my fists… this wasn't working…

A compromise then. At least until I could think clearly again.

"Take him. But you cannot be his keeper. It must be someone Christine and the fop don't know. A stranger. Christine must never know her son has left…"

She didn't ask for an explanation. Perhaps she was not a complete idiot. She simply nodded and, thankfully quietly, scooped up the child. I could hear her retreating footsteps as she quietly exited my home. Then, she was returning. For what? I kept my eyes shut, light would only worsen the migraine, yet I could feel her hover over me. I tried to ignore her.

Then, after an indeterminate amount of time, I sensed her move. Suddenly warm, soft fingertips were being pressed to my aching temple in an act of tenderness so foreign it seemed almost otherworldly to me. It was quick, so much that I did not even have time to form a reaction. No, just a simple, whispered "I'm sorry," and she was gone.

Almost immediately I felt the tension in my forehead begin to wane, only to be replaced by a tightening in my chest.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

I had no idea why.

Perhaps I had lost my mind.

Or perhaps the whole day was turning out to be just one big blonde moment.

But whatever the reason I had suddenly felt the urge to comfort him. He had looked so much like little Erik at that moment and I had been reminded that this man had a hand in creating the child I adored as my own. In that moment I felt my maternal core nearly cracking with the need to shush him and murmur sweet, comforting words.

But when I had actually made contact he had involuntarily jerked back ever so slightly, showing me the fear behind that sinister smirk of his.

I realized there was nothing more I could do for this man. And once I was back in the open I was grateful beyond belief that I hadn't tried to get any closer to the Phantom of the Opera!

Still, half of me still mourned the sight of such a wondrous, frightening man on his knees, though I didn't understand why.

The other half of me was complaining about my stupidity. What was I going to do with _little_ Erik? I had no one I could take him to! "Where in the world can I find a babysitter than won't be frightened of the spawn of a ghost?" I cried out.

As if answering my call; a small, odd little girl left her clever-looking mother's side, running to me with a shrewd shine in her eyes.

"Ann!" I heard whom I assumed was her mother call. "Where are you-?" She met my eyes and smiled knowingly.

* * *

Next time on My Father, the Fop:

Erik: Okay, hangover's gone. Time to reclaim me that little meatbag!

Meg: Ahem

Erik: I mean my adorable son whom I love so much and would never force to wait on my hand and foot!

Willow Rose: Hiya, I'm the kid's nanny!

Ann: I'm Her daughter!

Stella: I hate you!

Ann: That's great! Everyone who reads this story hates you!

Stella: WAA!

Little Erik: Wait... so Raoul isn;t really my father?

Christine; Nope.

Little Erik: SCORE! Wait, does that mean the Phantom is?

Christine: Yup.

Little Erik: ...I'm so depressed. I'm gonna go over there and be all angsty.

Christine: Like father like son!

Raoul: Pikachu!

Tune in next time!


	17. Episode 16

Hmm... Well... Feel free to pelt me with stones for taking so long to update. (Willow Rose throws a stone) OW! Hey! I didn't mean literally! I meant verbal stones!

Here it is, the next chapter. Sorry it took so long. It's just, the story's going to be ending soon and I'm trying to think of how to close it all up. I'm kinda sad to see it go...

But alas! I think Gaston Leroux and ALW are tired of me bithcering their characters in the name of humor.

As for the reviewer who thought it was OOC for Erik to be such a bad father, consider this: He's never had a better example. He was pretty much always either neglected or abused. Now, I don't think Erik would ever be a child abuser, but negelctful yes. The guy's lived alone for so long!

Also, in Leroux's book he mentions how Erik could get lost in his composing for weeks at a time. I was simply borrowing that idea...

Well, no more stalling. Here ya go, my lovely, faithful readers! The next one WILL be posted sooner! Or I'll eat my hat. (Erik: You don't have a hat) SILENCE!

**Episode 16**

"Hello." The woman said, holding her hat to keep the wind from blowing it away as she approached.

"Um… hello?" I said, rather baffled in her interest in me. Then I realized the mucky state of my clothing and hair. I must've appeared ridiculous and dirty. Then again, what could one expect after wading around in the sewers?

"Pleasure to meet you, mademoiselle Giry." The little girl, Ann I believe, said with a curtsy. I could feel my eyes widen in surprise.

"But how did you…?" The woman pointed behind me. The ruins of the Opera House still held posters. On one of them there was, amazingly, a picture of me as Prima Ballerina. Marguerite Giry, it read. Ah, I remembered that! When the managers had spoken to me of it, I had refused to be called La Giry.

But I thought they had never had the opportunity to put up that particular poster…

"Are you alright?" The woman asked, bringing my attention back to the present.

"Oh, yes. Thank you." I straightened out my skirts as best I could, leaving dark smudges on the once cream-colored fabric. "I realize I must be quite a mess, but I assure you I am fine."

"Willow Rose." She said, inclining her head slightly. "I realize, as well, that it must seem awkward for a stranger to approach you but…" she looked down at Ann, smiling affectionately, "My daughter here, Winanona, or Ann as we call her, is quite the fan of opera." She looked up at me, smiling sadly now. "But it seems that by the time we arrived in Paris, the Opera House had been shut down. I'm certain she was simply eager to meet someone who had a chance to be so close to what she likes…"

I nodded, not having any other response to the awkward situation. "Yes, well, I'm flattered…"

"Who's this?" Ann asked, spying little Erik who was trying to hide himself behind me tattered skirts.

"Don't be shy Erik." I said sweetly, hoping that I could end this conversation soon and rush home to rinse out my hair.

Madame Rose lowered herself to little Erik's level. Her voice was sweet, encouraging, with maternal qualities that reminded me of my mother, as she softly introduced herself once more. "Now Erik, you should introduce yourself in response. It would be rude not to do so." She said, not unkindly.

I didn't know what it was about her that made her seem so… so trustworthy. But whatever the reason, little Erik must have sensed it as well because he gradually released his tight hold on my dress and came up in front of me.

"I am Erik de Chagny." He said, managing a formal bow even in his disheveled state.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance." Madame Rose said, standing again. Little Erik stood straight as well, revealing his mask.

Ann gasped, though not in fear. "I knew it!" She exclaimed, tugging on her mother's sleeve. "It's him! It's him!"

"Him who?" I asked, panic rising within me. Had they heard about the Phantom of the Opera? Would they confuse little Erik for his father? Would they fetch the authorities? The last thing my terrible week needed now was a murder trial!

Madame Rose seemed to panic as well. "No one! Erik simply… reminded her of a young boy we met at a masquerade is all!" She answered, too quickly. "Isn't that right, Ann?" the little girl said nothing, but continued to stare at little Erik strangely. There was a recognition in her eyes that bothered me, and discomfited little Erik. Then again, both the ladies Rose seemed rather peculiar, if not a bit eccentric.

"Well, we best get you cleaned up!" Madame Rose said suddenly, shattering the silence.

"W-what?" She began pushing me along, in a most unlady-like manner. "But Madame Rose!"

"Please! Call me Willow! And don't worry!" She laughed, continuing to push me along, Ann and little Erik following. "Everything will explain itself in due time!" I tried to object, but once again I was swept away by the circumstances at hand. Why did these things only happen when little Erik was around? Was his face not the only curse the famiele le Fantome suffered?

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

I didn't know who these strange women were, nor did Meg judging from her obvious confusion, yet I did not feel any reason _not_ to trust them. The truth was I should've been more cautious, but I did not feel the need to. After escaping the Phantom I felt as if _anyone_ was safer company.

That and something about the young girl, Winanona. She seemed genuinely intrigued by me, but not in a way I had ever experienced. Of course I realized, at my age, I did not have much experience to go by. But comparing to what I _did_ know, her interest in me seemed alien.

I remembered Stella, and her cruel curiosity. She had _needed_ to unmask me, despite my warnings and threats. Her cruelty and selfishness required it of her. Yet I did not sense any animosity or distrust coming from this girl's ignorance to what lay beneath my mask. Rather, she seemed more intrigued by the fact that I _wore_ a mask then what lay _beneath_ it.

But why? What interest does a mask stir in a person besides the desire to see what it hides? The formula of human Psychology did not seem to fit in here, she was breaking the rules I had so come to rely on. Of course, the Phantom had broken them as well… but he was insane so that made sense.

But this girl seemed mentally well. She was calm, and her eyes—rich, green hued ones—held an intelligence much superior to Stella's. And it wasn't simply an intelligence of facts or of book studies, but rather a wisdom of life and how it functioned. She seemed to know more than a child her age should. "Ancient eyes…" I murmured to myself.

"Yours too." She whispered back. I snapped up to find her staring at her feet as she walked. Though she faked disinterest, she was studying me. Did she know just what reaction she had caused in me? These questions, they were because of her, weren't they?

Staring at her I also noticed that she was attractive. Not in the classic sense, like Stella. No, Stella was lovely as a child, thus I was certain she would be a beautiful woman. This girl, Winanona, seemed plain. Though, it was unfair to compare her to such an unusually pretty girl such as Stella. On her own, Winanona was quite lovely in her own sense. She wasn't exactly pretty, like Stella was, but she could pull off cute. In time she would grow to be pretty, enough to make her noticed among other women, but not so much as to catch the interest of every man from simply one blushing look, as Stella would.

Her hair was plain, straight, brown, shoulder length. Not like Stella's long, perfectly undulating, burgundy red locks, ending in perfect, almost chocolate colored curls. And though both possessed green eyes, I found that Winanona's eyes were her winning feature. Their depth gave them an appeal that Stella's shallow, hard, cold eyes did not and would never posses. And while Stella's eyes could burn with a glare, Winanona's seemed to heal. They gave off this strange, caring aura; seeming to say that she wanted to understand, whatever your troubles may be. She wanted to understand and would _try_.

Her mother on the other hand…

To say that Willow was not pretty would be a lie, but her attraction was a sweet, maternal one. Perhaps it was simply her age; she seemed to be in her early thirties. Yet she bore that same impression that reminded me of Madame Giry; the look of a woman who had indeed been beautiful in her younger years and that, even middle-aged, was still quite lovely. Her coloring was different than Winanona's; her hair a dark brown with highlights of gold, long enough to reach past her waist, while her eyes were a rare shade of violet. But that, probably inherit, wisdom was still present. She was not as plain as Winanona; in fact she was notably striking.

I turned my attentions to the third lady of our party. Marguerite was a mess… I could only imagine how I must've looked. My ponderings were cut short, however, as we arrived at a small but charming flat. Madame Rose quickly ushered us inside and provided us with warm water, bath oils unlike any I'd ever seen, and a change of clothes.

Once I was once again decent, I emerged to find the ladies Rose in their sitting room, tea already prepared for their guests.

"Ah! I see they fit." Madame Rose exclaimed happily, gesturing towards me. "I was worried that Ann's clothing would not fit you."

"Winanona's?" I responded immediately. I checked my clothes. Yes, they were definitely a simple change of boy's clothing. Nothing more than a plain cotton shirt and brown pants. Why would Winanona ever wear such a thing?

"A disguise." Winanona whispered as she passed me. "We traveled in secret." She added vaguely and swept into the next room to fetch some biscuits.

Meg entered not too long afterward. Once again Madame Rose said "Ah! I see they fit," and mentioned how the dress had been hers in her younger years. Meg sat down dreamily, as if not believing any of this was actually happening. I immediately joined her.

"Excuse me…" Meg said timidly. "This is all very kind of you-"

"Do not mention it!" Madame Rose interrupted, holding up a tea kettle. "Peppermint or Chamomile?"

"Peppermint. But Madame Rose-"

"Willow! Call me Willow!"

"Yes, Willow. I don't quite understand why you're doing this." Meg tried to continue.

"Ah! My dear," Madame Rose laughed softly. "The question is not why, but why not! Peppermint or Chamomile, little Erik?"

I pointed out Peppermint, deciding Meg's choice was best, and continued to stare at Madame Rose with the same incredulity as a phangirl would if she saw the Phantom wearing a nipple suit.

"Is there anything else I can get for you?" Madame Rose went on. "Cream? Sugar? Magic?"

Meg choked on her tea. "What was that last one?"

"Sugar?" Madame Rose answered without batting an eyelash.

"Cream and sugar would be nice… thank you." Meg replied, seeming to give in.

Winanona reentered then, placing the biscuits on the table. I reached for my cup but suddenly found her hand slapping mine away. "Ow!" I pulled back and cast her a glare, expecting an explanation. She said nothing, but inclined her head, gesturing for me to follow.

She led me into the kitchen and in a hushed voice alleged, "You don't want to drink that. Trust me."

"Why?" I asked suspiciously. This was all very strange. Like a chapter from that book _Le Zone de Twilight._

"It will do… strange things to you. Just believe me!" Winanona gasped and covered her mouth, realizing her voice had risen. "Trust me." She whispered, more like a plea than an order this time. "Please."

"But Marguerite is drinking that!" I said, suddenly filled with alarm.

"It won't hurt her!" She whispered fiercely, latching onto my arm to prevent me from running into the room and wrapping my thread lasso around her mother's throat. "My mother means to harm. The tea will only give Mademoiselle Giry the extra push she needs."

"Extra push? For what! What, in the name of my foppy father's shiny, silky hair, is going on here?"

"Keep your voice down!" Winanona said, stifling my complaints with her hand over my mouth. "I don't know the exact details. My mother is the one meant to deal with Mademoiselle Giry. I'm here for you, Erik! That's why I'm here! I know who you are, what your life has been, and I know what will happen if you don't let me help you!"

"But… how? Why?" It was the most I could get out in such a baffling situation.

"Here, have a biscuit. It'll help." She said, stuffing the bread into my mouth.

Only after I had swallowed a bite and began to become drowsy did I realize what had just transpired. "You gave me one of your poison treat dealies, didn't you?"

"I don't think you'll mind in about three seconds."

"What do you mean you don't think I'll mind?" And suddenly, everything went black.

And at that precise moment, as I swirled in the oblivion of unconsciousness, I decided:

I hated women. I would never, ever go near one when it could be avoided!

…

…

…At least until puberty.

* * *

Next time:

Little Erik: What the hell just happened?

Ann: Magic buscuit.

Little Erik: What was that?

Ann: I said... Sugar?

Willow Rose: YAY! The authoress let us keep our powers!

Misty: Yay!

Willow: Why are you here?

Misty: ... I dunno.

Raoul: Wait, don't forget abotu me! The whole story is titled after me!

Christine: And what happened to Meg? Not that I care...

Meanwhile...

Erik: (Opens his bedroom door and finds Meg sleeping on his organ...his instrument organ...his MUSICAL organ) What... the crap?

Tune in Next time!


	18. Merchandising

**Merchandising**

Now available from Warner Sisters Records!

My Father, The Fop: the official soundtrack for the not-so-original television series! With music from and inspired by My Father, The Fop!

Includes today's most popular hits such as "Why Have You Brought Me Here Stella Remix"

**Little Erik:** _My god, what's wrong with her?  
_**Meg:** _My god, what's wrong with her?  
_**Little Erik:** _She won't go away!  
_**Meg:** _She thinks you're cute!  
_**Little Erik:** _I wish she'd leave me alone!  
_**Meg:** _If you were older you'd probably like her back.  
_**Little Erik:** _She's ruined my day!  
_**Meg:** _I bet you already do!_

"The Fop of the Opera"

**Raoul: **_Sorry I'm late! I'll get you Phantom of the Opera!  
_**Little Erik:** _Stay, father! Stay for me!  
_**Raoul:** _(Vocalizes)_

"Crumpet Concoction"  
**Christine: **_Crumpet concoction! What's your function?  
_**Crossianta: **Madame? What are you doing?  
**Christine: **_You keep on eating them until you get a concussion!  
_**Raoul: **Um, Christine?  
**Christine: **_CRUMPET CONCOCTION! MAKE YOU KILL YOUR HUSBAND!  
_**Raoul: **I don't get it.  
**Christine: **FORGIVE ME RAOUL! THE CRUMPETS MADE ME DO IT!

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP

We apologize for the inconvenience. The network is currently experiencing technical difficulties. Now back to your regularly scheduled advertisements!

Also featuring "You'll See, Jars"

**Raoul: **_You'll see jars! You'll see jars! You'll see, those evil cork-lidded containers! That won't let us do our work and steal our fans! I'll stick pins in the top, to keep those damn things shut! Don't worry world, you're in safe hands! You'll see… _I'll get you jars!

And "Oops, I Bluffed You Again"

**Madame Giry: **Zis one eez pritty self-eexplanitory!

Order now and get a second disk free! With such favorites as "Like A Ballerina"

**Meg: **_I made it through the catacombs! You know I made it through!  
_**Erik: **What the hell is this recording studio doing in my lair?  
**Meg: **_Didn't mind it at all, once I found you! _(Dances "all up in Erik's personal space")  
**Erik: **... I'm going to go in my room. Don't follow me.  
**Meg: **_Like a ballerina! Pirouetting for the very first time! Like a ballerina!_

"Fops Keep Falling In My Lair"  
**  
Erik: **_Fops keep falling in my lair. But that doesn't mean that they get to keep their silky hair! I built a torture chamber! And that's the only place; yes that's the only place. The only place where fops are welcome in my lair!_

"How Many Stellas Does It Take To Screw In A Light bulb"  
**Stella: **What?  
**Winanona: **Oh, well, actually that wasn't a song title. It was a new reality show I sent in to FOX. Either way, we know no amount of Stellas will ever equate enough intelligence to complete the cognitive thought required for the job.  
**Stella:** Oh yeah? Well… your name is weird!  
**Winanona:** I rest my case.

And the phenomenon which was kinda shaky in America but rocked Europe! "The Foptaro Theme Song"

**All: **_Ya ya ya ya ya! Foppity fop! Ya ya ya ya! Ooh fop-fop!  
_**Christine: **_Let's make crumpets!  
_**All: **_Ooh-ooh!  
_**Raoul: **_Blueberry and poppy-seed too!  
_**Little Erik: **_Trying to keep my sanity is all I do!  
_**Miscellaneous Back-Up Dancer: **_C'mon and bake your very best!  
_**All: **_Ooh-ooh!  
_**Meg: **_Put my patience to the test!  
_**All: **_All of your fops will come through!_

Order now and we'll include a free bath towel! Please? Please order! We can't get rid of these CDs! No-one wants them! We'll also include the soundtrack for the Authoress' other story _The Shape In the Shadows_ the musical sequel to _The Phantom of the Opera._ Pretty please? With sugar on top? We'll be your best friends? Good enough yet? Call now and we'll throw in this nifty CD player, for the CDs you actually _will_ listen to.

And every order includes a special, limited edition box set, answers to the SATs, a pet of your choosing, free money, a Gameboy, the fifth season of Futurama, fast food coupons, and a Webster's dictionary!

The soundtrack is also extremely versatile! Besides playing it to scare away annoying visitors, it can also be used as a doorstop, a Frisbee, a cup holder, a tiara, a keychain, a blinder, a rear-view bike mirror, a shiny circular thingie, a rainbow maker, a mirror, stress reliever, chew toy, a piece of trash, and more!

Order now at the low, low price of -$0.03! (Plus Shipping and Handling. Sorry, no refunds)


	19. Episode 17

No time! Gotta run! Here's the chapter! Straight into reviewer replies!

**Chantrea Savann:** Really? Now if only I actually HAD the CDs to sell... damn!

**mrmistofolees:** Different? Its not only dofferent! Its different, and improved!

**Erik's leadinglady:** You know, when I first started writing this I didn't notice. But as it when on I realized that yes... Little Erik is practically baby Stewie with a mask on. YES Family Guy rules!

**Miss Christine Daae:** I would... but I didn't make the CDs. I didn't think ayone would really want one. I really messed this one up!

**Lady Willow Rose:** (Gulp) Is this soon enough? Well, this chapter has none of you, but quite a bit of Ann. Do not fear! Your part has yet to unfold.

**Phantomess 786:** Aw! Really? Your review made me so happy that I updated sooner. See? Thank you so much for your support! And yes, SAT answers would make me buy any CD too...

**Reverberating Silence:** How many would you like? 1? 100? All of them? Yes, that totals out to...zero. Man! It looks like I could've made a lot of money off of these! Why did the price have to be -$0.03?

**Erik'sPhantomess:** Yes... I watch Fairly Oddparents. You caught me. That show is probably the best kid's chartoon I've seen in a long time. (Well, besides Invader Zim) Curse you Nickelodeon!

**I Love Gerry:** Aw! Shape in the Shadows! Sorry I never really answered questions about this one. Fanfiction took it off the site because it was in script form and I don't know where else to put it. (sniffles) It was my favorite phic to writetoo...

**Erik-Meister:** Glad you liked it. My Father, the Fop! Now with 23 percent more commercials!

**pixiestars 162:** Here's the update. No songs in this one, but the'll be back soon!

**musicallover:** No don't die! MY REVIEWERS! CLEAR! (ZZZAP!) Phew... close call...

**Angel-of-Music 1331:** Another order! Oh why, oh why did I makle the price -$0.03? (cries)

**Phantomsecretlove:** Update, here you are. Wow, you counted down the days? I feel so loved!

**Tsunami Wave:** Yes... I got the hint... And thank you for not pelting me with rocks. They hurt and leave nasty blood splatters on my keyboard. Not a pretty picture.

**Misty Breyer:** I LUV YA 2! Oh, please update your story! I cant hold on not knowing what happens NEXT! I'm hooked! HOOKED I say!

**Pirates are a girls best freind:** Yes... that chapter WAS weird. I dont know where it all came from.

**Witch-grrl:** Well, I aim to please! (Cough-lucky-cough)

**EVERYONE ELSE!** I love you all so much! Thank you for your continued support and guiding criticism! I'd personalize all my responses but I gots to go! Before I get caught typing again. SEE YA ALL NEXT CHAPTER!

**Episode 17**

"I'm sorry." Were her only words as I shook my head and tried to pull myself out of my drowsy haze. "You have to understand. I only want to help. The whole reason I'm here, it's to help." Winanona looked up from her lap and gave me a small, apologetic smile. "Please, listen to what I have to say before you judge."

Without the will nor the strength to fight, I nodded my assent.

"Thank you. You see, Little Erik, I know who you are. I have… dreams. But no ordinary dreams. Since I was very young I have had… visions." I cocked an eyebrow incredulously.

"Prophetic dreams?"

She shook her head quickly in negative. "No! I wouldn't go so far as to say… well perhaps. Seldom are my dreams wrong. I saw you little Erik. I saw you and I know you. I have to help you because…" She dropped her voice until it was barely above a thin whisper. "Because only by doing so will I find my own freedom." She sighed. "Or so I have determined."

I stood and approached her, exasperated. "But how does Marguerite enter in all of this? And your mother? And what do you mean by freedom? Who ARE you?"

"Please!" She raised her hand in a gesture to stop me from advancing any further. "I cannot answer all your questions at this time. Only know that I wish to help you! For my family's sake as well as yours!"

I stopped, stark still. "My family… then… I will see my mother?"

Winanona stood slowly, understanding. I hadn't even noticed her approach until she was before me, calm and sincere. "I know you have been composing an Opera of your own. We must have you finish it. Then we will invite your family to come and see it. Both your Phantom father and your Fop father included, as well as your mother and Meg."

It was a simple idea. Elementary really. And yet it was brilliant! In this way I would not be betraying the Phantom by showing myself to my mother, while simultaneously guaranteeing my safety to my distressed mother. An opera was neutral ground!

"But my Opera… it's back in my home. My parents will see me." I knew there was a flaw. It was too easy!

"That's what Meg is for. As we speak, she is going to take your mother out for the day. Shopping and what not. While she's distracted, we work to lure your father out of the house so you can sneak in and steal your Opera!"

"Genius!" I nearly jumped for joy. "But wait, how will we lure him out?"

"Elementary, my dear chibi-phantom! We'll leave his favorite bottles of hair gel in the street and then he will have to come rushing out to get them!"

"Wait." I interrupted. "His gel bottles are INSIDE the house. How can we get them OUT, to lure HIM out, if we can't get IN, in the first place!"

"That…! Oh… well…." She opened her mouth to say something, then stopped. Then once more began to form words, then stopped again. Then a third time she began to speak, but stopped herself. Repeat, repeat, repeat, repeat, lather, rinse, repeat. "We'll have to lure him with something else then!" She said finally.

"And that something else being?" I said frustrated, at having my hopes brought up and then dashed in less than a full minute.

"Err… Oh, I know! You can stand outside. When he sees you he'll some running out!"

I sighed. "Yes, except that then he would have SEEN me which is exactly what we're trying to avoid by luring him OUT!"

"Well then! We'll lure him out with something that is easily accessible to us! Something like a… a…"

"Like a what?"

"Oh, I don't know! A sandwich!"

"What kind?"

"Who cares?"

"What kind?" I insisted forcefully.

"Fine! An egg salad sandwich!"

"No! That's my favorite! I'd jump in before he got to it! Besides, Raoul may be a total and complete moron but he's not STUPID! He wouldn't it a sandwich he found outside on the ground!"

"But you would?"

"Only if it was egg salad." I said, crossing my arms indignantly.

"LOOK!" Winanona said furiously. She stood tall in front of the open window. The sunlight that reflected through it gave the impression that she was glowing red. "We will figure that out when we come to it! I'm sure a MASTERMIND such as yourself can come up with something! In the meantime, let's get there before your mother returns home, shall we?"

It doesn't take a mastermind such as myself to know when not to argue with a woman.

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Fear not! It is still I, Little Erik narrating. The break was simply to indicate a change of scene. For when we finally arrived at the de Chagny manor, Winanona and I had no time to come up with a plan. You see, just as we neared the steps, my father the fop came running out to check his mail. He spotted is immediately.

"Hey…" He said, tilting his head. "You're wearing a mask. I once knew a kid who wore a mask." He stopped to ponder the thought.

"Um, you couldn't! You see, I'm the… uh… trophy cleaner! I'm here to polish the de Chagny family's trophies!" I lied quickly.

"You don't say!" he giggled, clapping his hands together in excitement. "That would be wonderful!" Winanona and I exhaled in relief. "If I had any trophies, that is."

"What?" I had seen a multitude of trophies when I had lived here.

"Oh yes. I lost them just yesterday in a battle against the evil accursed jars, terrible things they are."

Winanona slapped her forehead. "How many times is the Authoress going to repeat that lame jar joke? It's staler than seven hundred year old bred, sitting in a mummy's sarcophagus, at a Star Trek convention!"

"Authoress?" I echoed.

"Oh, nothing!" Winanona said with a chirp. "Do continue monsieur de Chagny."

My father happily obliged. "Yes well, how terrible for you to have come all this way for nothing. I'll pay you anyway, what do you say?" He gave me no time to form a response. "Philippe!"

I had not seen my half-brother since he was a newborn pigleech. And even though the deep underground made it difficult to distinguish time, I couldn't have been away from home for more than a month. Yet lo and behold, a foppy young boy my age emerged.

"Yes Pappa?" he said, batting two sparkling eyes of jade.

"Wait a minute! Wait a minute! He's three, almost four, years younger than me! How can he suddenly be my age? And how come he can speak so clearly? I thought only I could do that because I was a genius!" I shouted.

"Quite simple." My father said calmly.

"Isn't it obvious?" Philippe added, with a shrug.

"W-what?" I replied stupidly.

"Plot device, my friend." Winanona answered sagely. "Plot device"

"Pappa." Philippe said, studying me with the blank, vacant green orbs embedded in his head. "Isn't that Little Erik, my brother?"

My father gasped.

Philippe gasped.

My father gasped.

Philippe gasped.

My father gasped.

Philippe gasped.

My father gasped.

Philippe gasped.

My father gasped.

Philippe gasped.

My father gasped, then paused. "Wait, what was I doing?" Ipointed to my mask. "Oh yes. MY SON! What happened? How did you get here? Wait 'till I tell your mother!"

"Uh… uh…" I looked to Winanona in a panic.

"He's not your son!" Winanona said, jumping forward.

"He's not? Then who is he? And who are _you_ for that matter?"

"We're… we're… Jars! That's it, we're jars!" I said, joining Winanona.

"No!" My father exclaimed, covering his mouth in shock. "I KNEW it! But wait, then why do you look like my son and some girl?"

"Aliens!" I answered

"Ghosts!" Said Winanona at the same time.

"…"

"… Alien ghosts." I covered.

"Yeah… they possessed us." Winanona continued.

"From space."

"Well I don't know if Alien Ghosts are at work here, or if they even exist…" My father said suspiciously, probably being the most intelligent action he had shown in the entire course of my life.

"But if they did exist," Philippe piped up. "I suppose space would be the place they would possess people from."

"Agreed. Their story checks out." My father nodded gravely. "Come inside, jars, so we may begin negotiations." We were ushered inside.

* * *

Next time 

Raoul: What do you want from me?

Philippe: Meep.

Little Erik: WE DEMAND THE OPERA!

Ann: And cheese.

Raoul: Why?

Ann: I'm not sure...

Willow Rose: (Shrugs) Apparently the Authoress likes cheese.

Misty Breyer: I'M REALLY IN THE STORY NOW! After the authoress has been saying I would be in it for about... three chapters.

Willow Rose: Will it be worth the wait?

Authoress: (Feeling lazy) Nah.. it probably won't.

Meg: Can we get on with the plot?

Erik: There's a plot?

Christine: Like, no way!

Erik: LIAR! Meg is a liar!

Christine: Ooh! Liar, girlfriend! Yous got him trippin!

Madame Giry: Bad Meg! Bad!

Meg: Grr... AHH!

Next episode! Same Foppy time, same Foppy channel!


	20. Episode 18 and A Special Dedication

**Episode 18**

It was just as I had seen in my dreams. The house was large and well furnished. On the walls hung portraits of the de Chagny family as well as their crests and medals. But true, it seems there were no trophies. We entered the sitting room, which was currently as mess of shattered trophy pieces against perfect, sparkling glass jars lines up against the wall. Monsieur de Chagny had Little Erik and me sit beside these jars, as if we were in a legal conference and they were our counsel. Philippe and his father sat across from us.

"Champagne?" Raoul offered his tone suspicious.

"Uh… no thank you." Little Erik said, visibly confused. "We're under drinking age."

"Yes, yes, I understand." Raoul said nodding his head, then suddenly casting us a deadly glare. "How very jar-like of you! Only jars don't drink! People do! They drink all the time!"

"Monsieur, we already admitted our jar-ness. There really is no reason for you to try and prove it." I said rationally. Raoul calmed and leaned back in his seat.

"So… what exactly is it that you want? Money? Power? Our souls? Because let me tell you, you may take whatever you wish as long as it is not my other slipper!" he pulled out a lilac slipper for emphasis. "It is my only clue to finding my dear, lost other slipper…" Little Erik cleared his throat. "Oh yes, and my son as well."

"No fa—I mean Monsieur de Chagny. We jars are not after your slipper. In fact we come quite peacefully." Little Erik said calmly. Raoul exhaled in relief. "We only wish for one thing."

"I knew it!" Philippe said, jumping up on the settee. "They want Victory! Well no, you can't have Victory!" Raoul jumped up in fright and joined his son's anguished screams.

"Victory? We don't want—victory in what?" Little Erik asked exasperated.

"Oh, like you don't know! Lying jars!" Philippe said bitterly. "Well you can't have Victory! My papa bought Victory for _me_, so get lost!"

"Bought…?" I gave Little Erik an inquiring look, but he only shrugged.

"Here Victory!" Raoul called, whistling. "Here Victory! Here boy!" A small, brown, wide-eyed, fluffy, and sickeningly adorable little pup came skidding into the room. His little paws gave him poor traction on the hard-wood flooring, so the poor thing went sliding straight into a wall. But Victory wasn't discouraged. In a moment he was back on his feet and jumping up to lick Raoul's face.

Raoul and Philippe were so delighted that they began to bounce on the settee jubilantly and forgot that moment ago they had been screaming bloody murder.

"Excuse me, monsieur!" I asked, becoming quite impatient. Christine could be back any second. They did not hear me. Instead they began jumping higher and higher until Raoul finally clonked his head on the ceiling.

A few tearful whines, an ice pack, and dog leash later, we resumed 'negotiations'.

"What we have been trying to say is that we only want little Erik's Opera." I said, stroking Raoul's throbbing head as if _he_ were the dog.

"Okay…" Raoul sniffled lamely. "But please promise you'll come visit me after. I'd hate to think you only want me for my smart son." I looked up at little Erik.

"Yes, he's always like this. No, I don't know why." He answered my unuttered question quickly.

"Of course we will. Jars love you Raoul! You're our mascot! Why, you're even on our nation's flag!" I said, hamming it up.

Sniffle. "Really?" Sniffle, snort. "What's your nation's name?"

"Um…"

"Jarmaica." Little Erik replied, matter-of-factly.

"Really?" Philippe said with childish delight. "Funny. You don't look Jarmaican."

"Alien Ghosts." Little Erik and I chanted in unison.

"Ah yes, they possessed you from space and changed your outward appearance. But speaking of them, are you sure they were alien ghosts?" Raoul said, sitting up to ponder the subject again. "I mean, alien ghosts are ghosts that made the conscious decision to become aliens. What you're talking about sounds more like ghost aliens, being aliens that died and became ghosts." He struck his best 'Look, I am thinking' pose and searched for our approval.

"Err… sure." I said, turning to find Little Erik already at the door.

"We best be going though." Little Erik shouted as he held the door open for me. "We have to get back to Jarmaica before Hannujarmas." We rushed out and dashed down the street as fast as our short legs could take us; which turned out to be surprisingly fast.

We paused once we reached the park to catch out breaths. "Oh no!" I cried. "In our rush we forgot to get the manuscript."

"Well I don't know about the manuscript, but I got the Opera!" Little Erik said happily, holding it up for me to see.

"But… when did you get it?"

"While my father was babbling on about Alien Ghosts and Ghost Aliens." He said proudly. He added with a smug smile, "Never underestimate the spawn of the Phantom of the Opera!"

I smiled, really smiled, for the first time since my mother and I had been forced to flee our home. I liked this boy. In all my dreams I had grown attached to him, but never had I imagined what his personality would really be like. He made me feel safe, happy. Whenever he was smug or confused, I felt warm inside. I didn't know why, but at the moment it was irrelevant. Without another thought I jumped up and embraced him. At first he stiffened, but soon he wrapped his arms around me as well.

"You're brilliant, Erik." I said, wishing this could last forever.

"Oh, I know." He laughed and gently pulled me away. "But let's go. They're waiting for us back at Jarmaica!" I giggled and ran after him, the whole way home thinking; had the circumstances been different, I would have followed him the rest of my life.

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I wiped the last of the cups clean and set it on the table. "That ought to do it. They should be home any moment." I said to myself cheerily. And, right on cue, in came Little Erik and Ann. "Ah, welcome home Ann. Would Little Erik like some dinner as well?"

"I would, thank you Madame Rose. That's very kind of you."

I smiled and shook my head as the miniature Phantom took his seat. "Please, call me Willow. It makes me much more comfortable."

"As you wish, Madame Willow." Little Erik said politely, Ann taking her seat beside him.

"We've been out working very hard, maman." Ann said excitedly as I served the sandwiches. "We even invented a country, apparently."

"Hmm. Sounds like you two are up to something. What are you scheming?" I said, taking a seat across from the two.

"Sorry Madame Willow. That's classified." Little Erik said, poking his sandwich. "Excuse me for asking but, exactly what kind of sandwich is this?"

"Egg salad."

"REALLY? I THOUGHT SO!" Little Erik said elatedly and began tearing into his meal. "How'd you know?" He said between gulps of mashed bread and eggs.

"Oh, a little bird told me." I said, winking at Ann.

"Talking birds? You sound like my father." Little Erik said, wiping his face with his napkin. I caught Ann steal all glance at him out of the corner of her eye and blush.

"Ann, you're awfully quiet." I said, teasing. "What, do you not like Little Erik?" She glared at me furiously.

"No, _mother_. I was simply thinking about a rather disturbing dream I had last night."

I stopped, worried. Ann's dreams were seldom inaccurate, if interpreted correctly.

"Involving what, pray tell?" I asked, resting my chin in my hand.

"Well, it began with a dark room." Dark clouds began to form in, amazingly, my dining room as Ann's voice lowered forebodingly. "I was alone, when slowly; a faint sound reached my ears. It became gradually louder and louder until I recognized it as two human voices. Then, out of nowhere, two young ladies, one of red and the other of brunette hair, appeared singing the fish song!" Thunder roared and lightning struck, barely missing the table.

"No, not the fish song!" I gasped, bringing my hands to my lips as thunder and lightning struck again.

"Yes, the fish song!" Thunder and lightening once more.

"What's the fish song?" Thunder and lightning followed by a question mark struck as Little Erik voiced his question.

Ann turned to him, incredulously. "The fish song." Thunder and lightning. "You know. _So long, and thanks for all the fish._"

Little Erik gasped. "No!"

"Yes!"

"Impossible!" I stated.

"But it was!" Ann insisted. "The brunette and red head were singing it. Then, suddenly, there were strings attached to their limbs. I looked up and there was a young woman with brown, hopelessly straight hair and eyes that switched between brown and light green! She was holding the strings and controlling the other two girls' movements! And she had no mercy! NONE! Then she looked down upon me and said _I'm coming for YOU! _Then… "

"Then…?" Little Erik and I said, dreading the answer.

"I woke up." Ann said plainly. The clouds evaporated instantly.

"I see… well, it seems Misty will be paying us a visit!" I said brightly. "I'd better get set another plate then, incase she's hungry." I stood and headed into the kitchen, leaving a baffled Little Erik and Ann to their own devices.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"Misty?" I asked, completely perplexed.

"Misty Breyer. She's an old friend of my mother and the Authoress."

"Authoress?" I asked again.

"I mean… sugar?" Winanona said quickly, offering me the sugar bowl.

"Uh…no. Thank you. But Winanona, what does Madame Breyer have to do with your dream?"

"Oh, the brown haired young woman who was acting as a puppeteer in my dream _is_ Misty." Winanona said, jumping out of her seat. "Now, let's see that Opera of yours."

I followed Winanona into the sitting room, where a beautiful—albeit small—piano was waiting. "It's stunning." I said, brushing the keys with my fingertips lightly.

"It's nothing." Winanona said with a sigh, sitting beside the instrument. "But it was the best we could afford. Anyway, let's see." She took out my Opera and placed it on the piano, her hand hovering over the cover.

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I opened the black leather cover slowly, savoring the moment. The title page stared back at me with curly, glistening ink letters. "The Opera? Well, not the most original of titles. But I'm certain the music will be beyond belief." I said optimistically. Erik opened his mouth to say something, but then shook his head and decided against it. I shrugged and turned the page. Blank. I turned to the next page. Blank. I turned the next three pages. Blank, blank, blank. I picked up the manuscript and flipped through the entire thing.

Blank. All blank.

"Erik?" I said, putting the blank parchment with a title page back down on the piano. "Where's your Opera?"

"That… _is_ the opera." Little Erik answered meekly.

I stared at him refusing to believe, not daring to believe! How could this happen? "Are… you… a… MORON?"

"Hey!" He said defensively, leaping to his feet at once. "I never had time to write anything beyond the title! As soon as I got my piano, Philippe was born. Then that whole Stella incident happened. And short after that I was abducted by the Phantom of the Opera! So excuse me if the Opera isn't exactly finished!"

"Isn't exactly finished?" I shouted, thrusting my fists to my sides. "It hasn't even been started! We could've saved ourselves the trip and started writing a new opera as it is!"

"No. I didn't remember the title." Little Erik said, crossing his arms. I couldn't believe my ears. Was this really the brilliant mind of earlier?

"There IS no title! It's called _The Opera_! For crying out loud, even Raoul can be more creative than that!"

Little Erik gasped indignantly. "Now you've gone too far!" I was going to strangle him. No, I wasn't. I couldn't even touch him. I was so disappointed, so disillusioned. He was so infuriating! So self-absorbed, stuck-up! I didn't want to be anywhere near him EVER again!

"Hope I'm not interrupting anything!" A familiar voice said as a face popped into the window. "May I come in?"

"Make yourself at home, Misty." I said, exhaling slowly to vent my tension.

She clambered in, as ungracefully as ever, and smiled at me. "Ann! You've grown! You look great! Well, no. You actually look kind of pissed, but great nonetheless!" She turned her attention to Erik, who was for some reason pressed against the wall like a cornered mouse. "Hello! This must be Little Erik!" Misty said excitedly.

"He's… a fool. A fool named Erik." I said softly. "Erik, this is Misty Breyer."

"Keep her away from me!" Little Erik said, pointing spastically at the bag Misty carried on her shoulders.

"What's with him?" Misty turned to ask me. "He doesn't like my bag? I sewed it myself! I call it a backpack!" She turned back to him reassuringly. "Don't be scared! I don't bite. Unless you're a cookie. I like cookies." Misty's randomness, however, did nothing to ease little Erik's mysterious nervousness.

"Just… k-keep that bag away." He stuttered.

"Hmm? Oh, yeah! I almost forgot!" Misty said, smiling broadly and opening her backpack. "I found her outside looking like she was going to hang herself." Misty turned over her backpack and shook it. Out tumbled several books, a sewing kit, cookies, a fish, the one ring to rule them all, a kitty, and a snobbish girl my age with a large pink bow in her hair. "See? I told you I knew where to find your 'mask face'." Misty said proudly to the pink-bow girl.

"No!" Little Erik screamed. "My Stella senses never lie!"

"ERIK!" The girl I assumed must be Stella shrieked happily, clinging onto little Erik's neck. "I missed you so much! Where have you been?"

"No! My deepest, darkest terrors have manifested into a physical from!"

"Aww, I love you too my widdle Erikins!" Stella said, dragging little Erik out of the room. "Oh, we have so much to catch up on!"

Misty and I could only stare at the spot where little Erik had been mere moments ago. "Well… at least she was honest about missing him!" Misty said optimistically.

"Yeah… she must've missed him a lot…" I sighed.

"What's wrong?" Misty kneeled before me, suddenly concerned.

I could feel my eyes misting.

"I miss him already!"

* * *

(Link from the Legend of Zelda walks out) 

**Link**: Hello everyone! The Authoress is currently indisposed. Instead I am here to tell you that there will be no "tune in next time" today. Instead, she is giving a dedication to Willow Rose and Misty Breyer!

(Erik (the movie/phic version) walks out from the other side of the stage)

**Erik**: (movie version) Yes. Since I am alreay taken in this phic, she is giving these two ladies a chance at other versions of myself.

**Link**: Now, as Erik and myself fight in the background!

**Erik**: And I suceed in finally ridding myself of Link, here!

**Link and Erik**: Please welcome the Leroux and Stage musical versions of The Phantom!

(Leroux Erik and Stage Erik walk out, looking daxed and confused.)

**Leroux E**: Where am I?

**Stage E**: How did I get here?

(Willow Rose and Misty Breyer are lowered from above)

**Willow**: What the...?

**Misty**: I thought Pleading Eyes said we were going for ice cream!

**Link and Erik**: Hit it! (Starts trying to kill each other and roll off the stage)

(Music starts up and a spot light falls on Misty and Willow, who are magically dressed in sprkly legless suits and top hats.)

**Misty**: (Comes up, dancing) What's the time?  
Well it's gotta be close to midnight  
My body's talking to me  
It says, "Time for danger"

**Willow**: (Comes up and dances) It says "I wanna commit a crime  
Wanna be the cause of a fight  
Wanna put on a tight skirt and flirt  
With a stranger"

**Both**: We've had a knack from way back  
At breaking the rules once I learn the games

**Willow**: (Grabs Stage Erik by the collar) Get up - life's too quick

**Misty**: (Comes up behind Leroux Erik) I know someplace sick!

**Both**: (Grabs the Eriks by their hands and lead them center stage) Where these chicks'll dance in the flames  
We don't need any money  
We always get in for free

**Willow**: (Whispers in Leroux Erik's right ear) You can get in too

**Misty**: (Whispers in Stage Erik's ear) If you get in with me

**Both**: (Dancing around Eriks) Let's go out tonight  
We have to go out tonight  
You wanna play?  
Let's run away  
We won't be back before a new update!  
Take me out tonight

**Willow**: (Seductively) Meow

**Misty**: (Jumps in front of Willow) Ha!

(Leroux Erik slaps himself while Stage Erik shakes his head in an effort to bring himself to his senses. They turn and begin running off the stage, but Willow and Misty jump on them. Before they can do anything about it, the Eriks are giving the girls a piggy back ride)

**Both**: When we get a wink from the doorman  
Do you know how lucky you'll be?  
That you're on line with the felines of phan fantasy!  
Let's go out tonight  
We have to go out tonight

(The girls jump down and twirl the disoriented phantoms. Once they stop spinning, the girls dive into the Eriks arms)

**Willow**: You wanna prowl

**Misty**: Be my night owl? (The girls move away and hold out their hands to the Eriks)

**Both**: Well take our hands we're gonna howl  
Out tonight

(The Eriks step away and a blue light shines down on each of them, depressing the hell out of the audience. Sniff…. They're so tragic)

**Leroux E**: In the evening I've got to roam

**Stage E**: Can't sleep on this stage of neon and chrome

**Eriks**: Feels too damn much like home  
When I hear my echoes cry

(A red light comes on the girls and they run over to the Eriks, pulling them back to center stage, where a white light shines on all of them)

**Willow**: So let's find a bar

**Misty**: So dark we forget who we are

**Both**: And all the scars from the  
Nevers and maybes die  
Let's go out tonight  
Have to go out tonight

**Misty**: (Hugging Leroux Erik) You're sweet

**Willow**: (Putting her hands on Stage Erik's cheeks) Wanna hit the street?

(The girls back away and dance suggestively in front of the Eriks)

**Both**: Wanna wail at the moon like a cat in heat?  
Just take us out tonight!

**Willow**: (Softly, pouting) Please take me -- out tonight

**Misty**: (Softly, also pouting) Don't forsake me -- out tonight

(The Eriks finally feel brave and come forward, seizing the girls into an embrace)

**Eriks**: We'll take you, maybe -- out tonight

**Both**: Tonight -- tonight – tonight! (The girls share a passionate kiss with the Erik of their choice)

(The Authoress walks out and pries Link and Erik apart)

**Pleading Eyes**: Please R&R! It helps me update faster!


	21. Episode 19

Woo! Look at me! I'm on an updating _streak_! Yet none of my favorites are updating! (Sings) Shame, shame, shame!

Anyway, here is the next chapter. This one does something none of the other chapters have ever done. Prepare to be annoyed! Or entertained. Whatever floats your boat! Unless you don't have a boat. In which case, I suggest you get one. And while you're there, get me one too...

I see a lot of you are unhappy about the return of Stella. Trust me reviewers! She IS an important character. Stupid, yes. Irritating, yes. Nowhere near competition for the awesomely great Winanona aka Ann (whom Willow Rose has been kind enough to lend me), yes. But she's nonetheless important. You shall see! And don't worry. In this story, everyone will get what they deserve... (Evil laughter)

Reviewer replies! Now!

**Nyanza**: Don't worry. As mentioned above, everything will have a purpose in time... or at least I hope so.

**Eriks ****leadinglady: **Thank you! Here's an update, just like you asked.

**Erik for President**: I try! But really, sometimes parts of the story I meant to be dramatic come out funny.

**Zimmer**: Ooh... I feel your pain. The same thing's going to happen to me. Ouch... (Gives you Phantom plushie) Feel better soon!

**Miss Christine Daae**: AHAHAHA! I can't tell yo how many times the same thing happens to me. Take a break from homework, get hooked to a story, remeber five hours later that yo were doing homework.

**Wandering Child 24: **Thak you for asking. It's great to know your absence is felt.

**Misty Breyer**: Yeah, I can't dance either. I still do sometimes, but its not a pretty sight! Ah well. If anything, you can always throw the confetti in the spectators' eyes. Taht'll keep them busy long enough to finish your hobbit dance!

**musicallover**: NO! Don't die on me? What have I done? Is this consideredmurder? Will I be aquitted? I'm to young! My unblemished record, ruined! Ahh! What's that? You were just kidding? Oh... okay then... I knew that. (Shifty-eyed)

**Tsunami Wave**: Boggled, you say? Then my job is done.

**LoverofBalto**: What IS a kid like him to do? (Sigh) If only modern medicine could guarantee having a kid like him... Hmm, there's always cloning.

**Mlle**. **Opera Ghost**: Well, Stella (shrieking) can be quite a nuisance. But Stella (shrieking) can also be a blessing! If Stella (shrieking) acts as competition, perhaps Little Erik will find another, more worthy girl paying more attention to him. ... Stella! (Shrieking) Hee hee, that is so COOL.

**miss ****phantom28: **Anytime. If you would like another, just send in an idea and a name! Maybe you could get a song too.

**Phantomsecretlove**: I know! Have you ever seen anything so rediculous in all your life?

**YoukoElfMaiden**: I do too! And the Rent movie is coming out! AHH! Yes, the second half is depressing in some ways. Yet at the very end I always get this feeling of hope and triumph above all else and (alarm goes off) Oh sorry, went off on a tangent there. Hmm, I wonder what the Jarmaica flag would look like?

**Willow ****Rose: **We DON'T want Stella flying out of the windows? Aww... (Puts away popcorn) Oh, alright. I'll just have to think up something else, won't I?

**Episode 19**

And so for the next few days, Little Erik worked nonstop on his opera. During this time Stella came on an almost daily basis, having been cast for the lead part, which is strange considering the lead part hadn't been written yet.

_**Hey! No pointing out plot holes!**_

Right, sorry Authoress. Oh, you're probably wondering who I am. I am the newly appointednarrator. You see, giving complete insight into a certain character's mind requires effort. And being a teenager, the authoress does not like putting in effort when it can be avoided.. ANY effort whatsoever.

_**No criticizing me you ungrateful fairy!**_

I mean—she is an extremely busy person, being as talented and hard-working as she is, and thus was in need of a helping hand. So she hired me (cough-pulledmeoutofhercloset-cough) to narrate. I do have a rather charming voice and am perfect for the part, don't you agree? Oh, how clever of the Authoress to cast me!

_**That's better. Now get on with it.**_

Anyway, Little Erik was so absorbed in his Opera and in coaching Stella to perfect her, as of yet unwritten, role, that he hardly had the time to even acknowledge anyone else's presence. Normally Meg would've objected to this behavior, but she was still too shocked about her whole encounter with the Phantom to actually pay attention. Willow and Misty spent most of their time in their 'secret base', which was really just a tent they had pitched up in the middle of the hallway, plotting and giggling over whatever random thing caught their fancy.

This left, of course, on little girl very alone and very unhappy. Winanona, or Ann as she was called, spent most of _her_ time scribbling gory sketches of Stella's demise and posting the colorful pictures on the fridge for the world to see. Whenever her pencils broke or she ran out of paper, she would stop and sulk instead. Little Erik seemed to have forgotten her and that connection they had briefly shared. She even began to doubt they had ever shared anything at all, and that she had just imagined it. Still, a small part of her cried out to fight for what she believed in and to destroy Stella because all of you hate her anyway.

_**Stop acknowledging the readers! It breaks suspended belief. It's like a reality check with a side of sugar! Sweet but, well… realistic. Did you forget everything I taught you at orientation? **_

No. Hold on! I'm new at this! Usually I'm the one being narrated _about_. Just give me a while to get the hang of this.

Moving on then.

So engrossed was little Erik in his project, that when Willow slipped some broccoli into his egg salad sandwiches, he not only didn't complain but actually _complimented _her for the added texture! Eh? Eh? Now _that's_ exemplary narrating!

_**I… no, just forget it. Go on. I think my interruptions are only making things worst. Just… try your best for a while. I'm gonna go get a snack. And try not to fight with your roommate while I'm gone, k?**_

Okay. So some more time passed. Blah, blah, blah… Miscellaneous stuff. Where's all the action…? Oh, here's a good scene! By some miracle, or another plot device, Little Erik finished his Opera in only a month's time! It was time for phase two of Winanona's brilliant plan: inviting the audience.

Misty was given the task of delivering the invitation to the de Chagny residence. She skipped up the steps, two by two, then ran back down so she could skip up them again, but this time three by three. This went on for quite a while until, upon reaching nines by nines, Misty missed and fell flat on her face.

The sound alerted the butler who opened the door and stared at the girl with a fright. "Are you alright Mademoiselle?" he asked, concerned.

"Hmm? Oh fine." Misty said, dusting herself as if nothing had happened. "I do that at least four times a day anyway. Do you think it will rain?"

The butler, Barbadwa or whatever, began closing the door and backing away. But the girl stomped her foot in the doorway, grinning mischievously. "Wait! You, sir, have a letter!" She said.

"For me?"

"No, actually. That was inaccurate. It's for Monsieur and Madame de Chagny. Are they here?" Misty said, nonchalantly peeking inside.

"No. They are out taking young master Philippe to his interpretive dance classes. Why?"

"Why? Because they've just been invited to the most AMAZING event of the year! The one Opera, TO RULE THEM ALL!" Misty said elatedly, jumping up and down in excitement.

The butler, I won't say his name because I can't spell it, only stared as Misty shoved an envelope in his front jacket pocket and proceeded to skip down the steps twelve at a time, which was quite a feat since there were only ten steps in front of the de Chagny home.

Meanwhile, Willow was trying to prevent Meg from going into a state of shock.

"But why ME?" Meg cried.

"Because you're the only one who knows how to get down there on your own." Willow reasoned.

"He'll kill me!" Meg ranted. "I've already invaded his privacy on multiple occasions! It's a miracle I stand before you now! Please, send someone else! Or don't invite him at all! At least you won't have to worry about your chandelier crashing or the lead singer being kidnapped!"

The conversation went on for longer than I care to say, but let's just say that there's only one question you should be asking yourself as I proceed. Will Meg return to the Opera Ghost's lair for a final time before Little Erik's Opera premiers?

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Yes, yes she will.

It was dark, damp, depressing, everything Meg remembered it being. The shadows danced around Meg Giry, as if mocking her as she descended into darkness. An unusually icy draft seemed to have been trapped in the tunnels that day, almost like a portent of bad things to come. The former ballerina shivered at the thought but continued on bravely. This is not to say she wasn't scared. She was terrified. A point came when Meg even began _wishing_ for music to play and for random lyrics to pour from her throat. At least then there would be a comforting sound, as her unsure footsteps were poor company.

Slipping, fumbling, Meg searched for the boat at the edge of the lake. There had to be one! It was much too cold to dive into the lake now. She would surely freeze. In her search, an unnoticed object caused Meg to slip. She fell to the floor with a slight scream, the object landing before her. Right in front of her face, so close that the tip of her nose seemed to touch it, was a broken skull. Meg screamed with all the force in her aching lungs, pushing herself across the floor as far away as she could from the skull, dragging her dress in mud but more importantly; accidentally shattering her own gas lamp. Everything went dark.

For a while Meg sat in total darkness, her breath coming in trembling gasps. Finally, the squeak of a rat caused Meg to leap to her fate in an instant, another scream echoing in the blackness. She placed her hand in front of her face, but could not see even a hint of it. It was so dark that Meg even wondered if she had gone blind. How could any place on Earth be so impenetrably dark?

Her wonder ended, however, as a most horrifying realization sunk in. She was trapped in the somewhere in the catacombs, utterly blinded, soaked, freezing, surrounded by rats and corpses, and no one knew how to get to her.

Tears filled Meg's eyes but she could not release them. She was past the point of crying. No, she had to get out of here. She didn't want to die in the sewers! Desperately, Meg took cautious baby steps, her hands flailing wildly around her in search of a wall. Finally, she found one. She slid her hands against the cold, slick, jagged stone as she walked, using what she felt as a guide.

Unfortunately, Meg could not see where she was going. Thus she did not know that she was close to the bank and her sheer terror had filtered out the sounds of the lake. She could not sense the slimy scum until she had stepped on it. Her feet fell from underneath her and she plunged into the frosty waters of the underground lake.

She screamed again, or tried to, but when she opened her mouth to take in a breath; her lungs filled with chilling, black water. Meg paddled fervently, but the cold made it difficult for her body to move and the water in her body was weighing her down. She could see nothing, but the feeling of death was all around her. She was sinking…

Hmm, well that was… gloomy. Not at all what'd I'd expect from a work of humor. What does the Authoress do when this happens…? Oh! Of course! She checks in with Raoul!

Raoul and Christine had just arrived home from Philippe's classes. As they shed their heavy fur coats, the butler entered the room to deliver the letter.

Christine opened it, being the more literate of the two, and read aloud:

"You are hereby cordially invited to attend the event that will become the talk to the city for years to come… at least for the few honorary people who will be there. Please be at this address, on this day, by this time, for the premiere of _Fopcorn_; the newest Opera written by Erik de Chagny. Raoul! That's our son!" Christine gasped, looking up from the invitation in shock.

Raoul made a noise, much like what'd you'd expect a flower to make if it could snore, and then turned to his wife. "Philippe wrote an opera?"

"No! The other one! Little Erik! He's alive and well! This must be his way to get through to us in secret!" Christine said, tears of relief coming to her eyes.

"Oh. Well, I don't know if we should go. Philippe _does_ have a lot of classes to attend. We might be busy."

"It also says that if we don't go, the person who read this invitation will die in seven days." Christine said, sitting on the edge of the bed and bringing her focus back to the letter in her hands.

"Mhm, whatever you say sweetie." Raoul said, looking through his drawers for a matching scarf to go with his current outfit.

"P.S. If Christine dies her ghost will haunt Raoul and rip all his hair out!" Christine read casually.

Raoul gasped, dropping his styling products. "What? I shall _not_ lose my hair on _your_ account, my beloved! Come, we must shop for the day of this opera! To the fop-mobile!" And with that, Raoul took Christine by the wrist and was out the door.

End commentary.

**_Alright, I'm back. Sorry I took so long. I only meant to get some ice cream, but you know how it is. You see one thing that looks good, then you get another and another. Then you start craving something else! Before you know it you've had thirteen lunches. So, what'd I miss? …You're done? Already? Oh, alright then. Did you leave them with a good cliff hanger? You did? Aw, I'm so proud of you! Good Link. You get the shackles off for a whole hour now.

* * *

_**Next Time:

Little Erik: Welcome to my gala.

All: (Stare blankly)

Little Erik: My premiere?

All: (nothing)

Little Erik: My gathering? Festivity? Celebration? Souriee? C'mon, you people are French!

All: ...

Christne: (Raises hand) I'm not!

Little Erik: Let's try this again! Welcome to my PARTY!

All: Ohhhh!

Little Erik: Let the music, begin!

Raoul: _I like chicken, I like liver, meow mix, meow mix, please deliver!_

Little Erik: I meant the Opera.

Meg: D'oh!

Erik: Bleh, this is the crappiest seat I've ever had. And I've lived in a cave.

Madame Giry: Oh, complain, complain! That's all you ever do! Lighten up!

Link: Do I have to narrate again?

Authoress: Last time, please?

Link: By last time, you mean "I'm going to be doing this a lot from now on" don't you?

Authoress: Yes. Yes I do.

Misty: Yay!

Willow: What are you so happy about?

Misty: Why are you NOT so happy about whatever it is?

Willow: Good point. WEE-HOO!

Stella: Well, time for my part. (Walks on stage)

Ann: (Behind Stella with a knife) Huh? The show's starting? Damn. (Hides knife)

Readers: Aww...

Tune in next time! Or don't. Either way, the stupidity will never end! Muahaha!

* * *


	22. Episode 20

No reviewer replies this time, simply because it will take longer for me to post the story if I do.

Things are finally starting to come together though! And we finally will begin to gain insight into Ms Rose and Ms Breyer's dark past. Who are these people anyway?

Also, welcome Mel. He is the random character that will be guest starring in this chapter and this chapter alone. Hi Mel.

Mel: ...

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention. He has no lines.

Oh, and this one thing happens with Winanona! But why am I telling you? Read it yourself! You lazies!

**Episode 20**

"No, no, no! Try it again!" I heard little Erik yell for the hundredth time, banging on the piano keys. "This song establishes the final stage of relationship between the anti-hero and the heroine before the betrayal. You must sing with emotion! And you must keep your voice smooth, sweet. Goddess-like!"

"I'm singing the best I can!" Stella shrieked indignantly. "And if you don't like it, then just cut the song! It's not important."

"It's the climax!"

"Not important!" A crash of papers, a slam of keys, and then Stella was running out of the room in tears.

"I'll be lucky if they don't wreck my house, let alone if they finish the opera." I said, wiping clean the dishes from Misty's constant visits to my food cabinet. I looked over at a chair in the corner of the kitchen where my daughter sat, arms crossed and expression gloomy. "Ann, why don't you go over there and cheer little Erik? He's working very hard." I said encouragingly.

"No. He doesn't need me. I'd only get in the way." She kicked her feet in the air and looked away towards the wall. "Besides, his precious Stella doesn't like me at all. She thinks I'm a servant. Imagine, a servant in my own house!"

I sighed. Things were not going well at all, and it was only a day until opening night. "Well Ann, will you at least take some water to our composer?"

"Mom!" She protested.

"Just go. I'm sure he'll be relived to see a fresh face, after being locked in with The Princess of Putrid for so long." I handed her a tray with two glasses of fresh water and sent her on her way.

From where I stood I saw Ann approach little Erik and place a glass on the piano. Little Erik looked up from his fuming, but before he could say a word, Ann was already sprinting away towards her room. Moments later, her door slammed shut.

"Oh to be young and in love." I laughed to myself.

"I'm sure she'll get over it. Jealousy can be pretty difficult for someone so young to handle." Misty said from behind me, slurping a milkshake noisily, her green eyes alit.

"Now where'd you get one of those?" I asked, my hands on my hips. "They haven't even been invented yet!"

"Not sure. But it's good. Want some?" I shook my head in the negative and returned to me chores. "Suit yourself. Anyway, I figured it was about time I told you."

"Hmm? Sorry dear, I wasn't listening. Told me what?"

"The real reason I'm here." Misty said lowly. I dropped my dish cloth in surprise. It was unusual for Misty to be so serious.

"I thought you had just come for a friendly visit."

"Yeah, for a whole month? Isn't that imposing just a little bit?"

"It wouldn't be the first time." I said sarcastically, pointing at the milkshake in her hand.

"Oh… heh… yeah. But that's not the point!" She sighed and sat down at the table, gesturing for me to come too. "You should sit down. It's… not exactly good news."

I sat down, removing my apron and smoothing out my dress. The atmosphere around us was thick with tension.

"Willow…" Misty said, her eyes suddenly a dark, almost black color, its depths turbulent. "Do you remember… when you and Ann were forced to run?"

"Of course. One can hardly forget escaping persecution, now can they?" I said, trying to keep my humor. Misty did not laugh. She only averted her gaze sadly.

"The townspeople… I think… I think they have some kind of holy-man amongst them. He calls himself the voice of God or some other nonsense like that. He was the one claiming that you and Ann were witches. He even went so far as to call you Satan's lover."

A powerful gasp racked my body. "But that would make Ann…"

"Yes, I know." Misty said with difficulty, as if it pained her. "That is why they were persecuting you. I don't know why he did not come after me as well. Perhaps he didn't know that I too had… the gift. At any rate, I had hoped that your escape would be the last we heard of all this foolishness."

I nodded my head, coaxing her to continue.

"But Willow… it wasn't!" She looked up at me, her eyes suddenly terrified. "He found you. That damned man found you! He knows you were headed for Paris. I came, thinking to warn you. But when I arrived there was no sign of them. I thought, perhaps they had given up on this senseless hunt for blood. But I was wrong. Just yesterday I heard disturbing rumors. They're coming. They're closing in on you. Willow, you may have time yet to perform this opera. But after this you must run! If you don't, they'll kill you! You and your daughter!"

For a while I could only stare in absolute horror at my friend across from me. How could this be? Ann's dreams had prophesized a new life for us here. We couldn't leave! We had nowhere else to go! And what would become of little Erik and his families, both the phantom and fop one?

"Willow." Misty said suddenly. I snapped my head up and realized she had stood. "Do not mention a word about this to Ann. If all goes as I planned, you will not have to leave Paris." Her eyes were a brown now, almost hazel.

I shook my head and looked down at my hands in my lap. I was afraid. Afraid for myself but even more so for Ann. What would become of us if all did _not_ go as Misty had planned?

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Sounds were the first to return. Indecipherable, but noticeable. Then lights and slowly shapes came into view. I groaned as my eyes tried to focus. Something was moving in front of me. Something warm and glowing. My vision came to and I realized it was a candle. Blinking, I tried to sit up. A spear of pain shot through my chest and I found myself back on my back.

I hurt. I hurt all over and where I didn't hurt I was completely numb.

In the distance I could hear the faint sounds of an organ, playing softly as if not to wake me. I turned my head and noticed that the organ was not so far at all. My ears simply seemed muted at the moment. I yawned to release pressure and immediately the sound was amplified.

I tried to speak, but the best I could get out was a weak, incoherent murmur. I clung weakly to the heavy cloak that had been placed over me for warmth. Why was I freezing?

The dark figure sitting before the organ turned, the right side of his face glowing white.

"Ah. So the rat has awoken. I must tell you, I don't enjoy finding trespassers in my home. And had you been anyone else, I would have let you drown. Or perhaps I would've fished you out simply to have the pleasure of escorting you to the afterlife myself."

"E…rik…" I whispered desperately. My lungs felt cold and swollen. Breathing stung as if my entire chest were on fire from the inside.

"Not to say that I rescued you because I specifically tolerate you, Mademoiselle Giry." He continued. "Quite the contrary, I find you to be most annoying. Like a fly that refuses to be swatted. What's more, you're a liar. I do believe you promised to return my son at the opportune time. Well here I am, well and waiting. And here you are. Yet I do not see little Erik anywhere." His tone dripped of sarcasm and malice.

I could only stare, struggling for breath. Giving in to my discomfort, the Phantom rose. Moments later he returned with a long-necked blue bottle. "Here." He said callously. "Drink."

The liquid smelled rancid but he pressed it to my lips and forced the foul fluid down my throat. The drink burned like acid and I found myself coughing up fistfuls of thick, viscous phlegm.

"It's alright." He said, more out of amusement than reassurance. "It's natural. The drink is simply clearing out your bronchial tubes."

It was terribly painful, not to mention disgusting. I couldn't breathe with all the constant, powerful fits of coughing. I couldn't even pick myself up off the ground. My hair was covered in mucus, as was my face. With a few, final, heaving coughs, I collapsed, utterly exhausted.

"There now. All done? Good. Perhaps now you can explain…" He slammed his fist onto the floor, right beside my face. I could feel the floor vibrate from the impact. "… why you have crossed me!"

"I did not cross you…" I said, my voice hoarse and trembling. "I came to bring you an invitation…" I took in a shuddering breath. "…from your son." I reached under the cloak, searching for my skirts.

They were gone. I pushed off the heavy cloak and found myself in a foreign robe. "What is this?" I demanded, suddenly finding the strength to sit up with some difficulty. "Where are my clothes?"

"Around somewhere, I suppose." Erik explained, sardonically. "They were sopping. To leave you in them would have been to condemn you to death. I'm beginning to regret it, terribly."

I felt my cheeks go crimson. "But then… who changed me?" I asked indignantly.

He opened his arms in a sweeping manner. "Do you see anyone else, mademoiselle? I can assure you we are quite alone."

I wrapped the cloak around me tightly, the robe suddenly feeling like too little cover. "You pig! How dare you? What did you do? You didn't…?" I couldn't finish. It was too indecent.

"What do you think?" He said with a spiteful grin.

Then he had turned away to pick up a tattered, soaking rag. A rag I recognized to be my clothes. He looked through the remains of my dress and found the crumpled bit of parchment that had once been a carefully decorated letter.

"It's an invitation." I spat, eyes averted, unable look at him through my anger. "You son has written his very own Opera and wishes for you to attend. He has even gone through the trouble of securing you a private box."

He was silent for a while. Since I would not look at him I had no way of knowing what he could possibly be thinking.

"Get out." He said unexpectedly.

"What?" I was confused. Why was he kicking _me_ out? _He_ was the one who had been indecent.

"Are you deaf?" He thundered, suddenly furious. "Get out!"

I tried to stand as best I could and broke into a run. My legs gave way under me and I fell in a heap onto the hard, stone floor.

"Forgive me monsieur!" I cried desperately, terrified. "I'm weak monsieur! Forgive me! I shall crawl out if I must!"

The Phantom said nothing. He only threw his cloak over me again, as if to say 'don't waste your breath.' He left the room, his gazed locked on the invitation. I lay down quietly, not even daring to shift into a more comfortable position.

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I couldn't sleep.

Not for the life of me.

And it wasn't just because of Stella and little Erik! Not at all! I had spent the whole day in my room to avoid them. So why would the night be any different? I sat up in bed. I was afraid.

It was the weather. Outside it was snowing. I wasn't cold. My mother had provided me thick blankets and Misty had even sown some more as an apology for bringing Stella. No, it wasn't the cold that bothered me. I was afraid.

The storm wasn't a fierce one either. In fact it was a rather calm snow, almost heavenly. Then why was I afraid?

Snow itself wasn't what scared me. Neither was it the wind, the cold, or the storm. It was the memories that snow stirred in me. I was afraid.

Every time I even pictured snow, only one image came to me; the image of scarlet blood splashing onto the clean, white surface. The sounds of people, furiously chasing after my mother and me with fire in their eyes as on their torches, filled my ears. I was afraid.

I was afraid because every time I saw snow I thought, maybe this time we won't make it. Maybe this time they'll catch us. Maybe this time…

I clicked my tongue in irritation. Why should I mull over maybes? They had no power over reality. I was safe now. We were safe now.

Still. I was afraid.

_Splack_! The wind had changed direction, causing the snow to fly into my window. The sight of the white ice streaming down the glass in slushy streams was not frightening. But then suddenly I did not see white ice. I saw blood trickling down my window. Suddenly the blood was on the inside of my window. Suddenly it was _my_ blood!

I screamed silently and sprang out of bed, rushing down the hallway. I froze. Now I was cold and to make matters worse, I could only see silhouettes. Shadows cast from the living room windows onto the hallway walls showed something running, dripping. Blood!

I held myself in terror, curling into a ball on the floor. Before I could stop myself, or rationalize my fears, I was crying.

My tears were muted, I would not let myself wail and let them find me. They'd kill me. Was my mother already a victim? I could hear them! A door opened. They were coming!

"There you are."

"No!" I screamed into my hands.

"I thought I heard something." The voice said, crouching beside me.

"Oh please, oh please." I rocked myself.

"Winanona?" My eyes flew open. I knew this voice, and it was not unkind.

"Little Erik…?" I half whispered, half whined, finding my face centimeters from his.

"Are you alright?" Outside, the skies thundered. I shuddered, thinking it the sounds of men's boots clamoring up my porch.

"I'm afraid." I said softly. "I'm afraid…"

Lightning illuminated the room briefly. Coming from behind him, the light gave little Erik a look of saintliness, if only for a moment. "It's alright." He said reassuringly. "It's only a storm. It can't hurt you."

He took my hand and pulled me to my feet. I clung to his grasp, desperately. He did not let me go, but instead wrapped his other arm around my waist. "Everything's fine. I'll stay with you." I nodded shakingly.

We walked together; his hold on me the only security I had, or needed. The hallway wasn't very lengthy really, but at that moment it seemed miles long. Finally, we arrived at my mother's bedroom door. Little Erik knocked for me.

"There, see? I told you. Everything's fine. I used to be afraid of storms when I was smaller." Little Erik said surely. "But as time went on, I grew to like them. They're actually quite beautiful." I tightened my grip.

The door opened, revealing my mother; her hair disheveled and her eyes half shut. "Ann?" she yawned.

"It's snowing…" I said fearfully, dazed.

"Hmm?" She checked the window. "Oh… I see." She turned to me, now wide awake. "My dear, it's alright. Come here." She scooped me up, carrying me back to bed with her, whispering words of comfort the whole way.

From behind my mother I saw little Erik smile and wave goodnight. The door shut. Safe in my mother's arms, my mind still on him, I came to realize something.

For once, despite my fear, the snow had been good.

Perhaps, if used correctly, Stella could be useful as well.

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I don't want to!

**Do it…**

But it's degrading!

**No it's not! It's an honor to narrate! Now do it!**

But… do I really have to wear this outfit too?

**What's wrong with a pinstripe suit?**

It makes me look like a game-show host!

**Nonsense! You look suave! Debonair! Now, go! Narrate!**

Sigh… alright. So morning came… yeah. The sun came up. Birds chirped. Everyone prepared. A crude little stage was set up in the living room, as well a box 5 which was made, literally, out of boxes. Curtains were hung around to box to ensure privacy and darkness.

The sofa was set in front of the stage for all the other guests, soon to be arriving.

The small makeshift 'orchestra' was actually behind the stage. It consisted of a piano, played by Willow; a set of drums, played by Misty who had insisted to play them even though she had no experience; and a guitar which was played by some random guy Mlles. Breyer and Rose had pulled off the street. His name was Mel, I mean, just so you know.

The leading and only roles were to be played by Stella, little Erik himself, and Philippe…

…Philippe? When did he get a part in the Opera?

**Remember all those classes Christine and Raoul were taking him to? Yeah. Secretly little Erik was abducting him and forcing him to practice the Opera.**

And Philippe never mentioned it?

**Philippe has the mental capacity of a goldfish, okay? Now cut me some slack and narrate, dammit!**

Alright, geez. No need to get all defensive about it.

**I am not defensive!**

Right… Sure thing Captain Denial! But I digress.

Night came, announcing the time for the show. Christine arrived, as did her foppy husband. Right on time of course. They were fashionably punctual. This was before it was fashionable to be late, of course. They took their seats and waited patiently as a dangerously excited looking Ann handed them the playbill.

"Fopcorn, huh? I don't know why but the title speaks to me." Raoul said pensively.

"Yes… um… dearest? Why don't I hold that for you? So it doesn't distract you from the Opera. Alright?" Christine said, wisely taking anything that Raoul could poke his eye with away from him.

The audience, consisting only of the two de Chagnys and Madame Giry, waited with baited breath. What kind of wonder had little Erik created?

Meanwhile, backstage in the kitchen, things weren't going so smoothly.

"Why isn't she here?" Little Erik said angrily. "Where's Meg? Meg has to watch this! It's important!"

"The show should've already started." Ann said softly. "You audience is getting impatient… not to mention hungry. Raoul has already started chewing on the furniture."

"No! We can't start without Meg!" Little Erik insisted. "I don't care if we have to wait all night!"

Unbeknownst to little Erik, but knownst to us, Meg was actually on her way. You see, the Phantom had decided to actually go see this play. For in the time he had stayed up, he had thought all night about little Erik. He had never really considered his son a human being, just a tool for getting to Christine. Realizing the err of his ways, but too proud to go out and buy an apology card, Erik decided that perhaps he should reform his views towards little Erik. After all, he had cursed the child with the face of a beast. The least he could do was see if he had also blessed him with musical brilliance.

So he had forced Meg to freshen up. Erik was no fool, you see, and he knew Christine would probably attend their son's Opera too. Well, as you imagine, Erik didn't want to look helpless and nerdy, so he decided to should bring a date. And who was conveniently his prisoner at the moment? Meg! It all just fit together.

What had delayed our clever phantom, had actually been Meg herself. Besides being a woman and taking forever to get ready, not one of Christine's dresses would fit her. They were too long to begin with, since Meg was shorter. This problem was easily remedied, but the other fitting problem wasn't. Besides being shorter, Meg also had been gifted with fuller breasts. Thus she just couldn't squeeze herself into Christine's flat-chested corsets.

So Erik had actually had to take his prisoner _shopping_ for an evening dress. This had been awkward, if not a little farfetched. Luckily, Meg was cooperative and they were finished soon enough. Still, can you picture the Phantom outside a changing room waiting for his captive to finish dressing so he could approve of her dress? I can't…

**I can!**

Of course _you_ could…

Back at the crappiest Opera house you will ever see, aka Willow's now over-decorated living room, Stella was throwing a fit. She wanted to perform, and NOW!

Raoul was getting bored, so much that he was ready to put on his own Opera.

Christine still hadn't seen little Erik and began to doubt he was even coming.

Madame Giry was flipping through a copy of the Authoress's other story, and writing her criticisms in the margins.

Overall, things were not looking good.

Then, in a burst of sound and dry ice, a shadow entered the room. Cloaked in his usual black attire and white half mask, the specter was a familiar sight… all but for one thing. On his arm hung his lady, a pretty girl of blonde hair and fair complexion, in a beautiful dress of cerulean.

Everyone in the house was silent, in shock. All but Madame Giry who yawned and said, in a rather annoyed tone, "Yeah. Okay. You made your entrance! Now take your seat so we can watch the show already!"

And so… they did.

With all the guests in their seats, the Opera began.

It was a simple, and familiar story. A chorus girl named Claudia was taking lessons from her 'Spirit of melodies, harmonies, and other such things.' Unbeknownst to her, her teacher was actually a man and he was in love with her. Of course, all his plans were ruined when Randall, Claudia's foppy childhood friend, came to town and swept her off her feet.

The songs were entertaining, if not a bit childish. For example, Philippe sang his own number called _I'm a Fop._

"_I'm a Fop can't you see that I rule this city.  
Fopcorn, I'm a fop.  
Cheekbones are high, my hair sheen, heading for a battle scene.  
Fopcorn, I'm a fop!  
_  
_Woo the girls, with my charming ways, same old damn thing everyday.  
Your angel teacher isn't what he tells you.  
He gets off on teaching you._

_I'm a fop can't you see that I rule this city.  
Fopcorn, I'm a fop_.  
_Your angel is a creep,  
And his home is underground deep.  
Fopcorn, I'm a fop!_

_Now I know what you go through  
Your rescue is way past due  
So pack your bags, bring scented soap  
We'll leave tomorrow, and elope!"_

Having convinced Claudia that her Spirit of melodies, harmonies, and other such things was really an incredibly sexy stalker, Randall suggested they trap the Spirit and then run away together.

Little Erik knew the story of the Phantom and how he had kidnapped Christine the night they had performed his Opera. But since little Erik was still a child, the person who told him the story had left out the whole 'seduction' part. Thus Little Erik had to come up with his own way for the Spirit to try and convince his ingénue to come with him. Thus this song was sung as the end of the first act:

"_The lake scum is always greener  
In a Foppity-fop's lake  
You dream about going with him  
But that is a big mistake  
Just look at the world around you  
Right here in the fifth cellar  
Such wonderful things around you  
What more is you looking for? _

_Under the Opera, under the Opera  
Darling, it's better  
I've got skull letters  
Take it from me _

_Up in the sun they work all day  
And there your voice will rot away   
While we'll be devoting  
Full time to composing  
Under the Opera!_

_Under the Opera, under the Opera  
Under the Opera, under the Opera  
I'll teach you to sing, your song will take wing  
Music sets you free   
What has he got? Lotsa hair gel!  
We've got some random guy here named Mel!_

_Each little flute here, know how to toot here  
Under the Opera  
I've got black-mail powers, and a running shower  
Under the Opera  
And no big fashion fuss, I need you more than he does  
That's why it's hotter  
Under the Opera  
I'll be your husband and teacher  
We don't need a preacher!  
Under the Opera"_

For those that had not witnessed the real scene between the Phantom and Christine, it was quite interesting. For those that had been there when it really happened, it was beyond confusing. Awkwardly, everyone clapped…slowly. Except for Raoul who was absolutely enthralled and cheering so hard that he fell out of his seat. Still, he continued cheering. The interesting part was; he seemed to be shipping for the Spirit rather than the fop…

Once Raoul was finally subdued, Willow came forward and took a formal bow. "Thank you. It is now the intermission. There are refreshments in the kitchen. Please help yourselves." She said, a coy smile playing across her face.

"Hey look, they have crumpets." Raoul said, not thinking. I don't have to tell you Christine's reaction.

**Um… yes you do. You're the narrator.**

Oh… Well, she ran like a mad man, foaming at the mouth like a rabid raccoon, her eyes red like hot coals, and her description filled with similes like a middle school English assignment. Enough said.

But if you want to know where the really interesting stuff was happening, it was in box five! Isn't it always?

"Are you enjoying the show?" Meg asked tentatively, trying to ease the tension. She had been stone silent the entire time, afraid that at any moment her escort may snap and leap up behind her, silencing her in a single motion of his hands on her throat. The small hairs on the back of her neck prickled at the thought. "That is, I know it is rather childish. But after all, he is only a child. But his voice is enthralling. I've never heard anything like it."

Erik was silent. His thoughts were far from voice at the moment. What had shocked him into silence had been the music. It was so modern, so different. He didn't expect foolish, little Meg to understand. He didn't think anyone would. Yet this child had done what he had been trying to do with his Opera. His son had accomplished what Erik had never finished for himself. He had actually _created_ his own genre of music, and he was only four? Or was it five? Six? Seven? Erik, to his shame, wasn't sure.

Meg turned back forward in her seat, thinking Erik would not speak to her. Perhaps it was all for the better. But then, "Marguerite," he said. Meg jumped in surprise. "How old is little Erik?"

"F-four. But his birthday is soon. Did you not know?" Erik frowned to himself. He did not want his deficiencies as a father pointed out to him at the moment, or ever, especially by a stubborn little rat.

"Why don't you just go out and leave my side for a while. This way we can _both_ enjoy the intermission." Erik said coldly. Meg didn't wait a second. In a beat, she had emerged from the temple of boxes and curtains.

"Meg!" Misty said immediately. "Why don't you come with me? Willow's doing tea-leaf readings! Come, get your fortune told."

"Oh, I don't really believe in superstitions." Meg said, trying to remain polite.

"Neither do I! But this isn't about magic or fallacy!" Misty said brightly, her eyes a mischievous jade. "It's about destiny. Fate will often send us signs to push us in the right direction. You know, when we can't figure things out on our own. C'mon!" she took Meg's arm and pulled her along. "Even if you don't believe, you can still have some fun. Why take a game so seriously?"

So Meg followed, relieved to be around normal people. Well, relatively normal anyway. The closer she came to the bustle and delight of the party, the farther away she felt from the danger and fear of the Phantom.

Willow served Meg a special type of tea. Green tea, she called it; imported from the distant land of Japan. It was an enchanting flavor; mysterious and exotic as well as relaxing.

When they had finished drinking, the guests lined up with their cups for Willow to read. First she picked up Christine's and inspected the little leaves on the bottom of the white china cup. "Hmm. It says here that someone dear to you shall suffer and accident, but that it will change his or her life for the better in the end." Christine looked up at Willow with her large, doe eyes and cocked her head ignorantly. "Next." Willow said with annoyance.

Raoul was next, but he had apparently drunk the leaves with his tea so there was nothing to read. Then Madame Giry came forward. Willow was fascinated by what she saw, and chose to whisper it to the aged ballet instructor in secret, lest the knowledge of the future affect destiny.

Lastly, having been the late comer, was Meg. Willow took the cup tenderly in her hands and examined the shriveled, soggy bits of green with great care. Misty's eyes sparkled in anticipation, their hue now matching the very leaves which Willow read.

"I see stars. Misplaced stars." Willow said, puzzled. "I'm uncertain of the meaning, but I can tell you this." She leaned closer to Meg's face, making sure to enunciate every word clearly. "When you find stars that dwell where the sun and moon can never reach, then you have found your place. You must stay there, for as long as you can. Or until your mission has been completed." Madame Rose leaned back, her air of mysticism dissolving. "I also foresee you being late to the second act if you do not hurry back!" Meg looked around. Everyone had already left and returned to their seats.

"Thank you, Madame Rose. I mean Willow!" And she stood up, rushing back, lest she incur the Phantom's wrath.

But that is not all that was amiss. Oh no! For even as the audience sat in waiting for the next act, and the actors all prepared for the final curtain, Ann Rose lay in wait. She watched, waited, her time would soon come. Soon a disaster beyond little Erik's imagination would occur!

…

…

Well not really. I mean, that kid has a pretty wicked imagination.

…

Seriously.

* * *

Next Time 

Lil Erik: Yes! Time for the second act! The grand finale! Stella, sing your line!

Crickets: chirp

Lil Erik?

Erik: Yeah, this Opera sucks... not really. It's wonderful. I'm just so used to being a negative person.

Madame Giry: (throws popcorn) Shh! We're trying to listen here!

Raoul: I wonder who will be in an accident? You know, like Christine's leaves predicted? (Looks at the anvil over his head) Yep... no clue whatsoever.

Meg: Aww, Little Erik fell asleep. Carry him home, Phantom!

Phantom: Meh.

Meg: He's adorable! He's so... OMG! What the hell is that?

Erik: Look like stars that shine where the sun and moon never could.

Meg: Weird, don't see that everyday. So, I've decided I'm staying with you for tonight.

Erik: What? Why?

Meg: Tea-leaves command me.

Erik: Don't I get a say in this?

Meg: Not really.

Erik: Why not?

Authoress: (Erases Erik's free will in a clever way so that the readers won't notice...hopefully)

Erik: Hmm... suddenly I have no objections.

(Meanwhile)

Misty: Look! I just brought in ANOTHER random character!

Willow: ... why?

Misty: Because! He's going to aid us in this over-convoluted plot!

Willow: Over-convoluted? Isn't that a bit redundant?

Misty: ... your FACE is redundant!

Willow: What?

Misty: Who?

Willow: I don't know.

Misty: Exactly.

Willow: Okay.

Misty: Alright.

Willow: Great.

Rocket Queen: Yeah... this sure is some quality dialogue. That's sarcasm by the way.

Authoress: Did I mention that (beep) and (beep) finally (beep)?

Readers: (Gasp) No way! Tell me more!

Authoress: Sorry! You'll have to...

Tune in next time!


	23. Episode 21

Sorry for the delay, I've been moping about how the release date for Zelda: Twilight Princess has been delayed. WHY, IN MUDORA'S NAME, WHY? WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE THIS? NOW WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO ASK FOR THE HOLIDAYS? CURSE YOU NINTENDO! CURSE YOU JAPAN! CURSE YOU MIYAMOTO!

Anyway, straight into the reviewer replies then, shall we? But first, one reviewer who pointed out something of importance. I present the awards for best, though nit-picky, point made in a review to **wendela**!

Okay **wendela** stated, and I quote "witch-hunting and the burning of witches was in the dark ages, 3 or 4 centuries before Leroux wrote his Phantom. The book is from 1896, the last witch-trial was in 1674. is time-travelling involved in this story? no? then please pay more attention during history-lessons."

Okay, so **wendela**. First, I want to thank you for your review. It was very good of you to pay enough attention and take the time to point out my mistakes without being cruel and flaming me. Just to clarify things a bit, yes I knew that the witch hunts happned a couple centuries before Leroux wrote his book. I read the crucible. But keep in mind; this is a parody of a novela, of soap-operas. Time insoncistencies are a MUST. I remember this one novela in particular my mom used to watch. It supposedly took place in the 60s or 70s, yet the cars they drove were obviously 80s models.

What's more, this phic is meant to be funny. The drama is there only because sometimes I feel like writing something besides nonsense, but that's all there really is to it. And to quote Chaucer:  
_"What follows is the story, I am not to blame.  
And why place such importance in a a game?"_

Moving on to reviewer replies!

**SuniMoon:** Laughing like a nut, you say? I didn't know nuts laughed. Hmm... salted or unsalted. Thank you so much for putting up with my changes in humor in drama. I never know what I'm going to write it just happens.

**The Midnight Rain: **No, by all means! Tell me how the characters feel! Sometimes they hide it from me. They don't want me exposing them to the phans out there. Especially Erik. He is so mysterious... (Shifty-eyed)

**Tsunami Wave:** You will never know for how long I was amused trying to figure out what "ph33r" stands for. I finally figured out it means fear... Thanks for the laugh.

**Phantomess785: **You know, I really, really liked your review! You're so energetic! I think we'd get along.

**Lady Willow Rose:** Glad you enjoyed it! Now we shall see what Ann was up to? Muahaha! Oh yes... there WILL be crumpets. Or not... I don't remember.

**Rocket Queen: **Your whole name is too long. I love it, but its too long. Can I just call you LMBYRQ? No wait, that's too may letters. I'm confused...

**TheGreatSporkWielder: **Your review (perfectly) amused me with your (perfect) use of (perfect) captions, blinking (perfectly) on my computer screen. I LOVE your penname, btw. Hehe..spork. Do you by any chance watch Invader Zim?

**letthedreamdescend:** I know! It's nonsense! XD

**Rising Twilight:** Ah yes. I shall be reposting that. Sorry I havent kept you all posted. I've just been working on writing a new song or two for it before I repost it. Don't worry, it SHALL return. Thank you so much for taking an interest in my writing You don't know how much it means to me. It makes me want to... SING! (Coughs) But... not right now.

**StringynKel:** Here it is.

**Misy Breyer: **Ahh! Misty! Where are you? I miss you so much! Your story... your beuatiful, hilarious story! I understand, of course. I mean, lives come before phics. Still, I can't help feeling dissapinted everytime I log in and don't find an update.

**Nyanza: **Aww... Link likes you for your comment. I caught him trying to escape and run away to your house. But now he's tied up and locked in my friend's instrument case. Bad Link... no escaping, you silly!

**RedWind730:** Thanks, I try. But the whole dolls idea actually came from the movie. You know, Erik's little dolls of all the people in the Opera House? For some reason I REALLY liked that idea.

**Episode 21**

The second act began. Randall, played by Philippe, was searching furiously for his beloved Claudia. There was no sign of the Spirit yet. Luckily, a Persian who lurked around the Opera House agreed to lead Randall to the Spirit!

"A random Persian daroga from the Spirit's past to guide the fop? Like that would ever happen!" muttered Erik under his breath.

Randall made it to the Spirit's lair under the opera house, but, as we all know, the Spirit caught him in a noose.

"Yeah! Give that dandy what he deserves!" Raoul cheered, egging the Spirit on.

"Down in front!" Madame Giry yelled irritably, chucking her box of snack-age at the over-enthused fop's head.

Raoul fell to the floor in a most undignified position. No one bothered to pick him up or even check him. It was not unusual for him to fall asleep at inappropriate times when it was past his normal bedtime.

You know, I sympathize with this Raoul fellow. He doesn't receive nearly as much credit as he should. For all his flaws he is still a good man, and a brave one.

**Hey! Your job is to narrate, not play favorites!**

But you do it all the time!

**Yes… but I also am the only one here who isn't fictional!**

Touché! So, back to the Opera!

We all know the story. The Spirit presents Claudia with a choice. Choose him or Randall dies. Claudia made her decision by, naturally, singing.

Stella, now clad in a lovely but oversized wedding dress which had been pinned up sloppily at the last moment, gave an incredibly false cry and sang:

"_Without You _

_My stage fright thaws _

_The curtain falls_

_My smile shines_

_Without You  
The divas croak  
My cheeks bloom  
The fops play_

_The stage lights gleam  
Of starhood, I dream!_

_My career will fly  
Without You_

_The managers cheat  
The fat tenor, eats  
But I die  
Without You_

_Without You  
The chorus is out of tune  
The dancers twirl  
The stage hands move_

_Without You  
The scenes change  
The cymbals crash_

_The crowd cheers  
I'll lose my fears  
But I'll cry  
Without You_

_My beauty flows  
My suitors, grow  
But I die  
Without You"_

She came forward and, winking flirtatiously at the audience, gave little Erik a stage kiss. It was short, (Stella didn't want her face to be hidden for too long) and extremely unsatisfying for the audience who had been waiting for this moment the entire play.

Still, the show must go on. The Spirit released Claudia and let her go free with Randall. At this point everyone in the audience was in tears with the exception of Raoul who was unconscious, Madame Giry who was skeptical, Erik who was annoyed, Meg who was frightened for her life, and Mel who was trying to sneak away unnoticed…

…Alright, so Christine was the only one in tears. But it was nonetheless a very, very heart-wrenching moment!

Backstage, in the kitchen, Stella changed. Since she was the only female actress and _Fopcorn_ required two female leads, Stella was to play both of them. When she played Megra, Claudia's best friend and a dancer in the corps de ballet, she wore a ballet dress and a blonde wig (Gee, I wonder who she could be based on).

"Going somewhere?" A voice, dripping with malice, whispered behind Stella as she was fastening her false golden locks.

"Excuse you!" Stella yelled indignantly. "Can't you see I'm changing he-ahh!" She screamed as blackness came over her.

Back in the living-room—err—I mean the stage, little Erik began the final number in his opera. You see, the song was supposed to go like this; the Spirit begins to sing about his failure and how he is giving up life forever since he cannot have love. Then, in the midst of his turmoil, Megra enters and stays with him before confessing her devotion to him. It was an ending reminiscent of Disney, or at least it was supposed to be. But what little Erik didn't know was that his diva would be unable to cross the stage. But never fear! Let's see how this all pans out, shall we? Here we go!

…Ooh! I'm actually all excited now.

Quietly, little Erik began to sing.

"_Once in every show  
There comes a song like this  
It starts off soft and low  
And ends up with a kiss  
Oh where is my song  
That goes like this?"  
_

The piano played sadly for Megra's entrance… but she did not come. Little Erik cleared his throat and covered, saying "Where is it? Where? Where?" Still, Stella did not come out.

"Alright, I'm going to stay here sulking forever and possibly kill myself or someone else since I am ALL ALONE!" He shouted pointedly.

A long pause… no answer…

Little Erik's fists clenched. Where was that infernal girl? It had taken him forever to get her to sing this number, and still she did not live up to it. So where was she NOW? In a panic, little Erik glanced at box five. The Phantom was going to kill him. WHERE WAS STELLA?

Then… out from behind the stage… a soft voice began to sing. But the voice was not Stella's. It was sweet, with a slight airiness at times which then became a full, rich sound when it needed to be more emotional. This was the voice of an angel in training, for certain! And while it was clear to little Erik that the voice lacked correct technique; its natural talent was otherworldly.

"_A sentimental song  
That casts a magic spell  
Like 'Music of the Night'  
And we'll overact like hell  
For this is the song that goes like this_"

Little Erik stood stone still, trying carefully to peek out beyond the stage to the source of the voice. He did not have to wait long, however. In the darkness of offstage, little Erik could make out the silhouette of a girl in a dress, wearing a classy summer's hat. Slowly she approached, the light spilling onto her and revealing her features. She was not much older than little Erik, if at all. Her hair cascaded down in gentle curls. Her cheeks a perfect pink on creamy white skin. Her nose curved out in a small, perfect little nose, and beneath it smiled ruby lips. And her eyes; large, emerald eyes, sparkled brightly as did her sapphire dress. And her bonnet, amethyst embroidered, upon her head, tilted to the side and gave her face shade, providing an air of mystery. She was beautiful.

"Erik! Psst! Little Erik!" Ann whispered sharply from behind the stage. "Pay attention!"

Little Erik snapped to attention, realizing he had been staring. With a shake of his head, he motioned Willow at the piano and continued.

"_Now we can go straight  
Right down the middle eight  
A bridge that is too far for me"_

The gem hued girl sung, her voice much smoother, more lyrical, than Stella's.

"_I'll sing it in your face  
While we both embrace"_

Entranced, little Erik joined her in song as she approached her.

"_And now  
We change  
The key"_

The gem girl put out her hand and brushed it against little Erik's, who jumped in surprise.

"_NOW WE'RE INTO E!"_ Little Erik squeaked nervously at a soprano's range before correcting himself and returning to a tenor's._ "_Ahem_. That's awfully high for me."_ He covered.

The gem girl tittered cutely and opened her small, precious mouth to continue.

"_But everyone can see  
We should have stayed in D"_

"_For this is our song that goes like this!"_

Stealing his strength, little Erik stood up straight and took the gem girl's hands. _They're soft…_ he thought absent mindedly.

"_**Will you stay with me now**?"_

"_You're singing far too loud!"_ the girl corrected, giggling again.

"_That's the way that this song goes"_ Little Erik said, taking a step forward bravely. He felt something under his foot but did not budge!

"_You're standing on my toes…"_ The girl sang into little Erik's ear.

"_Singing our song that goes like this!"_

"_Say you'll stay forever more!"_ Little Erik said dramatically jumping back, although he really only went to step off the girl's delicate little foot.

"_Of my love, always be sure"_ The gem girl said, coming towards him again.

Hearing her say those words, little Erik froze. He knew it was only an opera. She didn't really mean she _loved_ him. But then why was his heart beating so fast? And why couldn't he remember his next line? Oh, why had he added two more verses?

"Err…_You know the trouble with this song?  
It goes on and on and on"_ Little Erik ad-libbed quickly.

"_For this is our song that is too long!"_ The girl had caught on in time to improvise with him. She was not only pretty, but clever!

"_We'll be singing this till dawn!"_ the gem girl said, trying to hold in her laughter.

"_You'll wish that you weren't born"_ Little Erik added, getting excited by the ridiculousness of their improvised lines.

"_Let's stop this damn refrain!"_ The gem girl sang. What rhymed with refrain? Quick… quick…

"_Before we go insane!"_ They both sang together. Little Erik was set aback by their ability to lock in with each other's thoughts.

"_For this is our song that ends like this!"_ They sang in perfect unison, before the gem girl trilled up the octave. It was everything little Erik had tried so hard to train into Stella and more!

Then, something happed that little Erik had not written into the opera. The gem girl came forward and planted the sweetest kiss he had ever imagined onto his cheek. It was enough to make the son of the Phantom blush crimson.

_Who are you?_ Little Erik thought furiously, but his mouth just could not process the words!

"I know what you're wondering." The girl whispered to him as the finishing chords echoed away. "But I can't tell you." And then, she was rushing away.

_Wait…_

The piano finished and hushed into silence.

_Wait…_

The curtain fell.

_Wait!_

The audience cheered.

_WAIT! _

"Wait!" The curtains rose. The audience called for a company bow. But little Erik had no time for such trifles. "Girl! Wait!" He chased after her, in the direction she had exited.

"Wait! Gem girl! Gem!" He rushed, the wind coming so fast that it burned his eyes. His tiny legs flew across the hard wood floor. He had to catch her. He had to know her name!

"Little Erik!" he halted. Why was Ann holding Gem's bonnet?

"Winanona! Have you seen the girl? The one who sang the final song?"

"Who? Oh, the girl who had this hat. She… uh… she's gone."

"What?" No! It couldn't be! Their minds had molded together, their souls had touched! He couldn't lose her!

"Yeah… but you better go into the kitchen. I heard weird muffled calls coming from in there…yeah … bye!"

Little Erik stood alone in the hallway. She was gone. Only moments ago he had heard her laugh and now… she had slipped between his gloved fingers.

"Gem…"

Meanwhile, Ann hurried down to her room. At the door, she knocked. "Are you ready yet? They're going to notice I'm missing and get suspicious."

"Almost!" Echoed an identical voice from behind the door.

"Good! Now hurry!" Ann said, waving her hands over her head. Suddenly, her appearance changed.

"Thank you so much Misty." The real Ann said, opening her door and emerging from her bedroom. "You'll never know how much it meant to me; to be his diva. Even if only for a moment."

"Hey, anytime. But now I have to take a nap. That took everything out of me." Misty replied. "Hey, you've still got some powder on your eye. Let me wipe that off for you."

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_Fopcorn_ was a success. And between the excitement of triumph and the hard work put into such exertion, it was no wonder Little Erik fell asleep on the kitchen floor after freeing a very disgruntled Stella.

"I suppose you want to take him home now" I whispered timidly to the Phantom. Christine had left, taking Philippe and offering to give Stella a ride home.

Only once the commotion had settled did I dare even ask the Phantom if he wished to leave his box.

"At once."

We passed by the sofa, my own mother lost in dreams, the playbill beginning to slip out of her slack grip. Raoul still lay on the carpet. Christine had been unable to wake him and decided to come back for him tomorrow.

"Here he is." I said, motioning to an unconscious little Erik. Erik, the Phantom, came near. Even doing something as simple as walking, he seemed so menacing.

"Up! We're leaving!" He said curtly, perhaps even preparing to kick little Erik into wakefulness.

"Monsieur!" I interrupted quickly. "Do not wake him, he's had a long night. After all, wasn't his Opera astonishing? Perhaps, you could… carry him?" I proposed cautiously.

He said nothing but scowled and silently scooped the child into his arms effortlessly. Little Erik did not bat an eyelash. "I'll fetch his things." I offered and walked out to do so.

I hailed a cab for the three of us. It was so unreal, surreal even, sitting in this carriage with this man holding the boy I cared for so deeply. It was almost as if we were a real family. As if…

What was I thinking? This madman? A part of _my_ family? The man could barely support his child's head! I had to keep lifting little Erik's head and tucking it back in place, much to his father's displeasure. I was certain this man must abhor me! Let alone my help.

But once, as I leaned forward to reposition little Erik's head once again, my hand slipped and brushed against his. Immediately he recoiled, as if burned.

"I'm sorry." I breathed, looking down at my hands on my lap. But why? Why did such an unintentional, tiny touch bring out such a reaction in him? I glanced out of the corner of my eye, keeping my head bowed, and looked at this Phantom. He was turned away, holding little Erik with one arm and keeping the hand I had touched tucked away under his cloak. Had I accidentally scratched him? Why did it pain him so?

The cab stopped, a few blocks away from the opera so we would not be discovered. The streets were dark and cold. The icy breeze scratched against my face like frozen daggers. I hid my face behind little Erik's things. Surprisingly, I noticed Erik cover his son with his cloak. It was strange, but such a simple act of affection gave me a whole new insight into this brilliant, confusing, intimidating man. Perhaps he wasn't the monster the corps de ballet's stories had made him out to be. Perhaps my mother was right in pitying him. Perhaps the reason he was so awkward with his son… Perhaps the reason a small touch frightened him so was…

"Marguerite!" I jumped, realizing we had arrived.

"Oh, coming." I followed down the gate. It was faster his way, with fewer tunnels and no lake to cross.

It was actually warmer in his home; the breeze being kept out and candles providing a constant source of heat. We crept into a lavish bedroom, the one I had found little Erik in. "Careful." I whispered; more to myself than to Erik as he lowered his son gingerly onto the pewter, bird shaped bed.

"There, then. I'll take you back up." Erik said and began to walk out.

"Wait!" I whispered sharply. "You should take his shoes off so he'll be more comfortable." Erik turned, fixing me a glare. "Well, it will help him sleep…" I said, my voice trailing off as I caught myself making the mistake of correcting such a proud man.

I could hear the squeak of leather as Erik's fists clenched and unclenched in an effort to contain himself. "Very well, then." I looked up, not sure I was hearing correctly. But sure enough, Erik slowly approached the bed and sat on the edge.

It was odd, watching such a tall, imposing man fumble with a toddler's tiny shoes. I couldn't help myself. "Here, I'll do that. My fingers are smaller. You can fetch him a blanket?"

He sighed in annoyance but did so. Honestly, I think he must've been too tired to argue.

When finally little Erik had been settled and tucked in, we stood over him; watching his chest rise and fall in time with his breathing. I felt my maternal core tremble and found myself suddenly leaning down to remove his mask and plant a kiss on his forehead.

"How can you…" I heard Erik start from behind me.

"How can I what?" I turned to face him, discomfited by the uneasiness in his usually intimidating voice.

He looked away from me for a few moments before turning his face back towards me and saying in a low yet eerily child-like voice, "How can you bear to touch such a face?"

_So distorted, deformed it was hardly a face…_

My maternal core nearly cracked at such a thought. Had no-one ever touched this man? Had no-one ever been able to see past his physical flaws? Surely his mother had been able to accept him as I accepted little Erik.

But what had Christine mentioned once in one of her unnecessary self-guilt trips? _His face which earned a mother's fear and loathing. A mask, his first unfeeling scrap of clothing._

My vision began to blur from the unshed tears welling up. Erik must've noticed my tears, for he suddenly became ashamed.

"I should not have asked." He said briskly and turned away, gliding out of the room with that cat-like grace of his.

"Wait!" I whispered, my voice tear-clogged and low. I followed him into the sitting room where I found him sitting in his chair looking into his unlit fireplace. "Monsieur…"

"Yes… I shall take you back now." He said, not facing me. He stood, offering me his hand but not even stealing a glance at me. Why? He was not angry… at least I didn't think he was. Was he ashamed? No… it was more than that… it was deeper…

"Monsieur le Fantome…" I breathed, my hand quivering on my chest and unable to take his.

"Do you wish to leave or not? I do not have all night mademoiselle Giry!" His voice was raised, yet I detected a hint of… of something… of…

…of pain…

"Monsieur…" I repeated dumbly. What could I do? How could I explain to him that it was not his face I feared? I had seen little Erik's and while it _was_ quite horrible, I had come to accept him and love him as my own. It was his actions, the murders and the threats, which frightened me. It was the Phantom that frightened me.

But then again… this wasn't the Phantom. Not right now. This was Erik.

_Only Erik…_

"Erik…" I managed to peep out of my useless, inflamed voice. "A face... it means nothing to me. I adore little Erik, as if he were my own son. His face is a part of who he is and it could never change how I feel about him. It is his brilliance, his kindness, and, yes, even his awkwardness which I love. A face means nothing." I did not know what else to say. I am only an uneducated, foolish little dancer after all. What could I say to this man who had probably heard it all? Erik was right, I was only a _rat._

"Nothing." He echoed softly. "Nothing at all." He repeated, louder now. Then, suddenly, he had spun around and taken my wrists, pinning them against the cold, hard, jagged walls of his abode. The dampness began to sink into my dress, but I could hardly feel it compared to the crushing of my bones in my wrists where he gripped me.

"Monsieur!" I cried, afraid.

"You dare say a face means nothing? To me? This face is the reason I am the monster who stands before you! This face is the reason that innocent people have died! It is the reason your friend Christine lost her mind! I did it to her! I _hurt_ her! And do you know what I did to you, when you were so conveniently unconscious in my home? Hmm?" His voice dripped with hatred and fury, his hot breath burned my numb cheeks.

What _had_ he done to me? He hadn't… oh god, tell me he hadn't!

Behind him something sparkled. The walls, damp and glistening in the candle light refracted off the lake formed a most peculiar illusion. For a moment I swore the very stars had come down into his lair to see me off to heaven.

_Misplaced stars…_

"Nothing…" I whispered, my voice raspy and broken.

"What!" he demanded in a rage.

"You did nothing." I said softly, my tears now spilling out freely. My mother had once said that even he needed something to believe in. In his desperation, was this what he believed? That he was a monster? That he had to hurt someone, that it was the only way he could have any sort of interaction with another living human being?

His grip tightened. "What would you know? I can give you the details, I can tell you exactly what terrible atrocities I—"

"You changed me so I would not die of cold, yet you did not even dare look. Did you?" I felt his ragged breaths, his body trembling so close to mine. I had taken away his weapon, the lies and threats he had been trying to use against me so that he would not actually have to harm me.

He _didn't want to_ harm me.

He released me, backing away yet still emanating danger. "I have killed men for less!" He spat.

"I'm sorry." I said, not knowing what else to say as I held my wrists and tried to rub the soreness away. "I'm sorry that you're ugly, I'm sorry that you're alone!" I wish I could've said more, something deeper and inspirational. But I only spoke plainly. It was all I could do.

"I'm sorry Christine couldn't see past this." I said, gesturing towards his mask. Immediately his hand shot up to cover his face.

"Don't touch me!"

"But I've already seen it before. Little Erik does not even mind letting me see him anymore. It does not frighten me."

"Don't TOUCH me!" he spun away furiously, as if I threatened him.

_God give me courage to show you…_

I could do this. I needed strength. I just needed to stay strong. I couldn't let my fear push me away. I had to help him see the light as little Erik had helped me.

With shaking hands I reached forward and brushed his fingertips, nothing more. He glared at me, his eyes shooting daggers at me. He cursed and demanded I get away, yet he made no attempt to remove my touch. He did not want me to go, I realized, but…

"Erik…"

He was afraid. Suddenly it all made sense. He was hurt and he was afraid.

"Oh, Erik." I knelt, taking his hand and pressing it to my cheek. Better this way, for me to be at his feet. I knew he would feel safer with that power over me. I knew he'd be in control and thus less likely to lash out. "I don't hate you." I smiled and wiped my tears onto his glove. "But we'd best lower our voices, lest we wake the boy."

Silence. I dared not look up. I would wait; wait for Erik to make the first move. I had seen stars underground, where the sun and moon could never reach. This was where I needed to be right now. This was what I had to do.

After a moment he pulled his hand away roughly, leaving me on my knees. He did not even try to look at me as he walked away towards the boat. I waited there, on the cold floor for a moment before I finally rose to join him.

It was a mistake, all a mistake. I could feel the blush on my face. How could I have made such a fool of myself? To think the Phantom of the Opera would ever want the company of a _rat_! What idiocy!

I stepped to the gondola, my gaze glued to my shoes. _The sooner I get away the sooner I can begin to pretend this never happened._

"Meg…" A small voice called to me. I turned. There stood little Erik, weary-eyed and barefoot. "Meg, I heard screaming." His eyes widened as he examined my face. "You're crying. Meg! Why are you crying!" He dashed forward, his feet echoing in the cavern as he ran.

He grabbed my skirts, clinging. "What happened?"

I smiled, feeling suddenly redeemed. My little Erik, my little savior. "Nothing, I'm alright. I was just… talking with your papa." I said, kneeling to meet his eyes. "Did we wake you? I'm sorry. Just go back to bed; you've had quite a night." He nodded, wrapping his short little arms around my neck and giving me a quick squeeze. "Off with you, now." I stood. "You shouldn't be out of bed with no shoes. You'll become chilled!"

Little Erik yawned and headed for his room, stopping in front of the Phantom. He did not even look at the man, but kept his gaze straight ahead. It was almost frightening. "You should know better." He said lowly. "Mademoiselle Giry is _not_ a rat. She is a lady, and a fine one at that. You should treat her as such."

"Little Erik…" I corrected softly.

"Goodnight." He said, yawning again and retreating into his room.

I turned back to the gondola, thankful for Little Erik's interruption but now once again faced with the challenge of his father.

Erik made no sound as he drew near, yet I could sense his approach. He had such a presence about him! "His face was uncovered." He said.

I squinted one eye. I hadn't even noticed. I had been preoccupied worrying about the child's bare feet on the wet, cold stone floor.

"You took no note." He echoed my thoughts.

_His face matters little._ But I said nothing, afraid to voice my opinions and incur his wrath once more.

"How is it that you… that Christine could be so forgiving? Why now? What makes that child so… _exceptional_?"

"But Christine hasn't forgiven it." I whispered, watching the rippling black water at my feet. "Little Erik has known much heart-ache and meager acceptance on behalf of his parents." I smiled ironically, remembering with shame that I too had once feared this babe.

I felt… longing. It was not my own, that was the strange part. It seemed to resonate from behind me. Longing and need. What did this man want me to do? If I made any move towards kindness he would only spurn me.

Indecisiveness; _that_ was what was made the air thick around me. Erik was deciding, still I dared not even steal a glance.

"You want to stay with him." Erik said slowly, stoically. Still, I knew there must've been much more emotion behind his words. There was a war being waged within him. I knew. It was as if the debris from the struggle was ricocheting into my own heart, yet I was too far away from the actual battle to see which side was winning.

"I wish he were mine." I admitted pitifully.

"But I am what keeps you from him." He was trying to make sense of my motivations. Then… he wanted to know my feelings?

"Yes. But not because I do not fancy your company." I said; half-tittering, half-sobbing. "Rather, because you do not fancy mine."

A dry chuckle exploded behind me. "Were it not for that, you would willing condemn yourself to spend your days in a prison?" I took a deep, calming breath and murmured my assent.

A silence settled around us. He was considering. I was holding my breath, hoping he meant what I thought…

"Then, by all means. Not that you are welcome; but to let you roam the streets at this hour would be negligent of me. You could be robbed, or worse. And we wouldn't want that to happen, now would we?" He said finally, falling back into his dry, almost cruel, sarcasm. He must've felt more comfortable this way. "You may sleep on the settee, if you wish. But do not stray from the sitting room. Even my _humble abode_ has its…" he paused, looking around as if the right word would be hanging in the air, "… hazards." He slid away, pulling open a curtain along the way to reveal a sofa. It was dusty and someone was already using it!

Someone was using it…?

I reached with trepidation to touch the figure… cold as death. I jerked back with a sharp gasp, barely containing a scream. My sudden movement caused the cadaver to topple to the floor, its lovely curls ruined, its fine dress in a heap, its limbs in every direction, its waxy complexion starring up at me lifelessly.

Its waxy complexion…

It was but a doll. A wax doll. "Christine?" I whispered in recognition. Oh yes, I remembered. Christine had mentioned this. The wax replica of herself. Of course, it no longer wore a wedding gown. There was a new, simpler dress now. More modest and yet still lovely. The doll seemed to have been resting, almost like a living being. Had he so carefully positioned her? Did he tell himself every night, to ease his mental-lesions, that she was not gone but only asleep in the next room?

I struck the settee, the impact dispersing the dust. I lay down, pulling the covers left inconspicuously for me over my shoulders. I did not move the mannequin. It frightened me. I lay, starring up at the specks of dust that floated above me, the light of misplaced stars shimmering in on the walls behind them.

I dreamt that night. I dreamt of Erik coming before my bed, watching me with a fascination contained only by his unwillingness to come closer. He noticed the mannequin and propped it up, taking one of the waxy hands and bringing it to his face, letting the lifeless figure caress him. I could only imagine the feeling of such cold, clammy hands. I shivered, even in my sleep. A voice drifted into my vision. It was that same, indescribable, silvery voice. So clear, like tapping a crystal in the right place with the exact amount of force required.

"_Touch me, trust me, savor each sensation…"_ Erik sang, letting the mannequin's hands drift lower, to his chest, then lower still. He stopped them as they reached his abdomen, as if he himself dared go no further. "How is it…" He said softly, melodically, though no longer singing. "How is it that you, a whoreish little foppette of a _rat_," his smooth tone contrasted so discordantly with his words, "knows what I, who have seen what even learned men could never imagine, will never?" He sighed and propped the mannequin against the bed so that it could sit with some degree of dignity. Then he was gone.

"Good morning Marguerite! And you shall be making my breakfast, I assume?" I woke to a cheery voice beside my bed.

"Yes little Erik. In a moment." I opened my eyes and sat up to see him. His eyes were bright with expectation. "Go put on slippers! Your feet will get cold!" He scampered off, jumping over the steps in excitement. I rubbed my eyes wearily, deciding to forget yesterday's events and try for a new, better day today.

It was only then that I noticed the mannequin, no longer on the floor as I had left it, but propped up against my bed.

* * *

Next Time: 

Meg: Here, eggs.

Erik: Eww. I hate eggs.

Lil Erik: I'll eat it!

Meg: Fine, have some toast.

Erik: I hate toast.

Lil Erik: I'll eat it!

Meg: O...kay! Have some cereal.

Erik: I hate cereal!

Lil Erik: I'll eat it!

Meg: ... FINE THEN YOU JERK! I don't know if I want to stangle you, kick you, drown you, burn you, kiss you, punch you or...

Erik: Wait, what was that last one?

Meg: Punch you?

Erik: No, before that.

Meg: Erm... sugar?

Erik: Eww! I hate sugar!

Lil Erik: I'll eat it!

Misty: So while all that was going on we made a daring escape!

Willow: Not really. It was kinda boring.

Misty: Kill joy...

Willow: Yeah, well, there's an unconcious fop in my livingroom and no-one's come to pick him up yet. I'm entitled.

Christine: Oh my God! Raoul is in a coma!

Cheesy SFX: dun dun DUUUUN!

Meg: Why do I get the feeling that this is the beginning of another convoluted, drawn out, plot turning point?

Madame Giry: Because that's what the script says. (Points to a page that says "beginning of another convoluted, drawn out, plot turning point")

Erik: I HATE the beginning of other convoluted, drawn out, plot turning points!

Lil Erik: I'll eat it! With ketchup!

Meg: I'm afraid that not even ketchup can solve this disaster... not even ketchup.

Cheesy SFX: dun dun DUUUUN!

Link: You ARE going to start working on MY story, right?

Pleading Eyes: Err... yeah. Mhm. Keep reading. Keep reviewing.

Next time on My Father, the Fop!


	24. Episode 22

Sorry this took so long. I've been doing some extensive work on **Shape In The Shadows** Quite a bit of the old stuff has been altered. Don't worry, its for the best! So reread it once it's up! I will keep you posted. There is a sneak peek at the bottom of this chapter. YAY!

Here it is! The next chapter! I must warn you, some aspects of the story will start getting more soap-operaish. Annoying I know, but that's part of what makes it humor.**  
**

No review replies this time. But next time, I promise!

To all of you who have stuck by this story, even when it dragged, thank you. You're the reason I keep writing.

To those of you I've lost, sorry about you.

And to Link, I WILL get started on your story eventually! Stop drinking all the egg nog!

**Episode 22**

"We're leaving." Misty said, promptly changing her hair color to an orange-red.

"Where?" My mother inquired cautiously as her own hair became a plain, flat brown, courtesy of Misty.

"I know a guy who knows a guy. We're going to pretend to be Swedish seamstresses at this one place."

"Okay, let's recap." My mother said, packing her things hurriedly. "You've changed our appearance so we can go to this one place where this one guy who knows this guy you know will hire us as seamstresses?"

"Precisely!" Misty replied, sitting on her own suitcase to force it closed.

"But, Ann?"

Misty's face fell. She had been dreading this question. "I cannot alter her appearance. In children it is too dangerous. Her still developing body may take on some of the changes permanently. Then there will be nothing I can do."

I sighed and allowed myself to plop into the wicker chair. I wasn't afraid. Rather, I was disillusioned. My scheme to win little Erik's affection had backfired, I realized belatedly. True, he no longer had eyes for Stella; but now he was smitten with a girl who did not exist!

Was that necessarily worse?

I decided that it wasn't, so in a way I _had_ won.

And yet I hadn't. It was 'Gem' who had won. And she couldn't even appreciate her victory because she did not exist! How did one contend with a rival that was not real? Could the situation _be_ anymore frustrating?

"We can't just leave her!" My mother retorted in a furious panic.

"Not at all!" Misty added hastily. "I simply meant that we will have to disguise her another way. Oh, and she probably can't come with us."

"WHAT?"

"Not to say of course that we're going to leave her here!"

"Then what do you propose we do instead?"

Misty shook her head pensively. Her eyes were black, empty as I had never seen them. "I thought we could hire her out as a maid. Only as a farce, of course! The masters would be friends _pretending_ she was their maid. While we hide they will care for her and we can visit. Once the danger has passed we'll pick her up and return to normal." She smiled, her unrestrained, jubilant smile. For once one of her plans might work!

My mother was not so confident. "But where will we find a high-class family to do us such a favor?"

"Excuse me?" Christine said as she entered our home, her small feet anxiously waiting on the threshold. "May I come in? I've come to collect my husband."

"Ah, yes." My mother nodded, a bit embarrassed. "I had almost forgotten. Where is he?"

"Ooh! I stood him up in the corner and decorated him! He looks like a holiday tree!" Misty squealed excitedly, gesturing at the mess of noble limbs and tinsel in the corner.

"He… he has not woken?" Christine said fearfully, her doe-eyes beginning to mist.

"Um… no. Come to think of it, he didn't even make a sound when Ann and I played soccer with him either…" Misty said, her eyes once again a mischievous green. "He was the goally." I could not help smiling at the memory of Raoul not protesting as Misty missed the ball and accidentally made a goal with his head.

"Oh God! Raoul!" The Viscountess cried rushing to take her husband in her arms and the tinsel out of his silky hair.

"Maybe this is a bad time, Madame." My mother said, awkwardly. "But would you mind sheltering my daughter for a while, under disguise as your maid?"

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

We rode in Christine's carriage. Raoul splayed out on all out laps. It was quite a wonder how his hair could stay so neat, considering what he had been through.

I looked over to Christine whose eyes were red-brimmed with tears. She had not answered my question about taking Ann in.

Admittedly, my timing could have been better.

"Well at least he's breathing. Right, Willow?"

A _whole lot_ better.

"And it's not like he's bleeding."

Actually, my timing was quite awful.

"Well, unless he's bleeding internally. In that case it may be too late to save him. But what are the chances of that happening? Except for that fact that Ann and I were kicking him around…"

In retrospect, I might have chosen the worst possible time in the history of the story to ask for a favor from Christine.

"Ooh, and he might have some burns from when we played tea party with him!"

"Misty!" Christine wailed. "You're not cheering me!"

"Oh, was _that_ what I was doing? I forgot." Misty said, arms crossed and expression smug. It was clear she did not have much affection for the bug-eyed soprano. "Sorry." It was also clear from the teasing faces she was making behind Christine's back that she had _not_ forgotten and she was _not_ sorry.

We arrived at the hospital and made our way inside, Raoul dragging behind us since no one would volunteer to help Christine lift him. The good doctor Ess CharGoe took the fop off our hands and transported him immediately to the emergency room.

Christine was a wreck, her eyes and nose streaming. I decided to go in for the kill. "So Madame de Chagny? About taking Ann…"

"Yes, yes! Anything! I'll do anything. Just please, God, don't let him die!" She wasn't exactly talking to me, but I figured it was close enough.

We waited, our nerves frazzled to the end. Not one of us was certain what had happened or if Raoul would ever even wake again. The walls seemed to close in on us, threatening, warning that time catches us all in the end. Still we waited and waited, endlessly waited…

…It was the longest two minutes of my life.

"Madame?" The doctor announced, coming out to greet us with the news.

"Monsieur?" Christine stood, staring helplessly at the doctor as if he could work miracles and alter fate for the better. Misty was wriggling in her seat to prevent from revealing her amusement.

"Your husband is… in a co-!"Dun dun DUUUUUUN!

"Pardon? I didn't catch that. The dramatic music drowned you out."

"Your husband is… in a co-!" Dun dun DUUUUUUN!

"I'm sorry, one more time?"

"Of course. Your husband is… in a co-!" Dun dun DUUUUUUN!

"I'm sorry, could you not pause dramatically? I think someone is cuing the music too early."

"I SAID, your husbandisnacoma!" … … … Dun dun DUUUUUUN!

"Okay, a little too quick this time. Maybe you could—"

"Oh for the love of!" Misty threw her hands up in the air and stood. "He said your husband is in a coma." Dun dun DUUUUUUN!

"Gasp!"

"No!"

"Why?"

"He's so young!"

"Oh c'mon! Don't act surprised! The doctor said it like four times! Plus, Raoul hadn't woken up in a whole day no matter what we did to him! And soap operas always have a person who falls into a coma! It isn't unusual!" Misty stopped herself, realizing she had said too much.

"What is she talking about?"

"Nothing, dear." I replied quickly, shoving Misty back into a seat. "So, will the Viscount be alright?"

"Meh. I dunno." The doctor said with a quick shrug. "Go inside and see for yourself. I've just been invited golfing. Did I say golfing? I meant called to a very important meeting. Yeah…"

"Of course. Thank you so much doctor." Christine replied devotionally. Even I could not help rolling my eyes.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"What is he reading?" Little Erik whispered to me. We stood outside the library where had sat reading for hours. He would not join us for meals and said nothing. I decided it was time to take action.

"Stay here." I said softly and walked in. Erik must've registered my presence because his shoulders stiffened, but he said nothing.

"Monsieur." I said shakily, trying to muster up the nerve to say what Little Erik and I had planned. He grunted a response but would not look up from his reading. It must've been a very good book. Or perhaps he just wanted nothing to do with me. "Monsieur!" I repeated more harshly, clicking my heels together. He sighed in annoyance and turned, giving me a pseudo-formal smile.

"_Yes_ Marguerite?" he replied through clenched teeth.

"Monsieur Le Fantome. It has come to our attention that you never attend meals, ignore us when you pass us by the hall, refuse to let us touch your cool shiny things, compose music at all hours of the night when the rest of us are trying to sleep, and leave a big mess of papers which I always clean up… and I don't even get a thank you!" I crossed my arms in indignation and gave the best dissatisfied pout I could despite my trembling legs.

The Phantom raised an eyebrow and stood. At his full height, I felt much more of a rat than ever. He was so tall… I couldn't deny the weakness such a detail stimulated in my knees, though it was not quite from fear.

"What are you saying, exactly, mademoiselle?" He said, relishing in the iciness of his voice. My blood ran cold, remembering that he had no qualms about killing me if I went too far.

But last night, hadn't he had the perfect chance? If he wanted me dead he would have already finished with me. Wouldn't he?

Stealing my courage; I took in a deep breath and thrust up my chin to stretch my height, adopting my most formal, most maman-like tone, and spoke. "We, your humble guests, have a proposition to make! Behold!" I reached into my pocket but found nothing.

"Behold what? This?" He held up the worn deck of cards I had intended to show him. When and how he had taken them from me, I did not know. "I purchased these years ago. But cards soon lost their novelty. What do you mean by this?"

I swallowed, refusing to allow this display of his control over all to disturb me. "I found them… behind the organ… when I was dusting." I shook my head, fighting to keep calm. "Regardless. I have a proposition to make."

"As you have previously stated." He said with tilt of his head, simulating boredom. He seemed childlike… in a terrifying I-will-kill-you sort of way.

"Yes… and that proposition is…" My mind drew a blank. Shoot, what was I doing here? From outside the room I could see Little Erik frantically trying to gesture the answer to me. Bloody hell! Why was I so bad at charades?

The Phantom began to stalk towards me. "I must admit, you are wearing my patience, mademoiselle. I was reading and do not like to be disturbed." His tone was calm, but laced with harmful intent.

I had to stall. My life was on the line now! But how? What could I…? In a panic, my eyes focused on his mask. Down, my gaze trailed. Down, down, following the contour of the mask, until there was no mask.

"I shall give you to the count of three, then."

Such normal, even-toned, smooth skin. How could one part of his face be so horrid and the next so natural? Pleasing to the eye, even?

"One…"

I followed the hard curve of his strong chin, then up.

"Two…"

Up… to a slight hill in the valley of his face. Apricot colored lips, full but cold. Untouched by any, other than Christine.

"And…"

But that kiss was only a bribe! To save Raoul. There had been no love, no warmness in that kiss. His skin had to be cold, how could it not be? It had never received warmth from another. Then those ironically perfect lips would simply wither away, then.

"Thr—"

I jumped forward, fixated on his lips. At the last second I regained some conscious thought and turned my head as far as I could, my own lips landing on his left cheek.

He stood, still as death. Even his breathing caught. Had it not been for the rapid pounding of his heart, I would have thought he had died and become petrified to the spot! His arms hung at my sides, up with hands fisted as if prepared to shove me away, but he made no move. My own arms had stayed tucked at my sides and now rested against him, one at his side and one on his thigh. I dared not make the first move. Erik, or I hoped it was now Erik and not the Phantom, would not budge. I didn't dare, for fear that the Phantom within this man may react with fury and smash my head against the wall behind me. Yet, as time passed and he did not move, I became increasingly suspicious that this was in fact Erik, too shocked and perhaps even—dare I think it—shy to move!

I slid my face slightly so that my cheek rested against his. From over his shoulder I could see little Erik, smiling smugly and giving me a thumbs up. His eyebrows moved up and down suggestively and he made kissing faces mockingly. I scowled. In my annoyance I regained my composure and moved my hands up to my chest. The path of my hands slid across his abdomen and Erik gave a slight gasp. I blushed as I placed my hands flat on his chest and pushed myself, reluctantly, away. I stepped back two, three, four steps.

Erik's face was one of pure shock and confusion. His questioning gaze, however, soon shifted as we parted and the spell lifted. His face contorted into sarcasm and mockery. I knew he meant to use my slip up against me. Still, I was relieved to find that he was regarding the situation with scorn rather than anger. I could take embarrassment. It was death that worried me.

"Marguerite, if you cannot control yourself I will be forced to ask you to leave." He was so facetious, but strangely he began to step back behind the chair. As if hiding. Hiding what?

"Monsieur, forgive my outburst." I answered calmly, trying to will away my blush and regard the situation with as much scorn as he. "I was… simply testing. To see if… you used… Kise brand shaving products!" I blurted suddenly.

"…pardon?"

"You know! Your face always looks so smooth, even though we're down here in the fifth cellar of the Opera House. I just figured, 'Man! He must use Kise brand shaving products!' You know the slogan! _No woman can resist a Kise!_ Get it? It sounds like kiss but it's a brand name? Yeah. So I made a bet with Little Erik, but we all know that the only way to know for certain is to kiss the man's cheek. So… I guess I lose! No trace of Kise to be found on your cheek. If you don't count _my_ kiss, that is! Heh… heh…"

"…"

"Yeah." I smiled a little too widely and shuffled my feet. I had saved face, for the moment, but now I needed a way out of the conversation!

"Weren't you here to make a proposition?" Erik held up the deck of cards. Oh! How could I have forgotten?

"Ah yes. That too. You see, Little Erik and I want to make a deal with you."

"The deal… erm… being?" I didn't know why he groaned in the middle of the sentence. Perhaps it ws hurting his brilliant mind to have such an inane conversation. I decided to finish up.

"We will play cards! All three of us. Little Erik doesn't know how to play cards and I've only played very few times with the older ballerinas, while you're probably an expert; giving you the advantage. But there are two of us and one of you; almost evening out the odds. So! If either little Erik or myself wins the card game, then you have to attend meals and pay attention to us and make an effort to be nice and considerate and be a positive part of our lives!"

Erik looked pensive, but only for a moment. He seemed in a rush to be rid of me. "But what if _I_ win? Speak quickly!"

"Oh, well… you come up with the terms. I was thinking that we wouldn't bother you again. We'd stay out of your way. I'd be your servant, if you wanted. And little Erik would write hate mail to Raoul on a weekly basis."

"Yes those are… agreeable terms."

"So, deal?"

"I will consider it."

"Aw, why? Just say yes if you're so confident! Think of what you coul—"

"Fine! Yes! I agree! Now, just go!"

I squealed happily. From outside little Erik could be heard exclaiming "Success!" I skipped out, excited beyond words at the possibilities. For what Erik didn't know was, I was a shark at card games.

The moment I exited, the door slammed behind me. I looked at little Erik and shrugged.

"Don't mind it. Your kiss just really… affected him." Little Erik said, a mischievous grin playing across his lips. "Brilliant idea, by the way. Throwing him off guard with that kiss."

"Uh… yeah. All planned… Mhm." I answered nervously. I looked back at the closed door. Why had he been so hurried to be rid of me?

"Don't worry about it." Little Erik said consolingly, as if he had read my thoughts. "I told you, your kiss just really affected him."

"But why would he send me away then?"

"Meg…" Little Erik sighed. "Just, let it be. You affected him… in more ways than one. He just isn't comfortable with losing control in a situation. At that moment, you were the one holding the reins. And he knew it."

"I… was?"

"Really Meg! Focus, will you? We're trying to tame the friggin' Phantom of the Opera! At least _try_ to be less blonde?"

I nodded, casting one final furtive glance back at the door. What was he doing now? Had his groans and sighs been of frustration? Was it because he had felt the warmth that I had tried so hard to infuse my kiss with? And if he had senses that, had he sensed my feelings, the ones I refused to even admit to myself?

The thought terrified me. I turned away quickly and followed little Erik down the hall.

* * *

And now a preview of **Shape In The Shadows**... 

...brought to you by Kise shaving products. _No woman can resist a Kise!  
_

CHRISTINE:  
_Remember all we used to dream about  
When we were little girls?  
Go to Anis, I beg you  
He can offer you the world!  
Won't you reconsider? _

MEG: (Ecstatic)  
_A soul is not up for the highest bidder!  
Christine, Christine  
Don't be frightened _

CHRISTINE:  
_How can I not be?  
He could hurt you, like he hurt me! _

MEG:  
_Like he hurt you?  
His greatest crime was loving a spineless child!  
You left him there to die!  
His final hopes you defiled! _

CHRISTINE:  
_How can you say such hurtful sentiments?  
You were like a sister in my youth! _

MEG:  
_Then the sisterhood is broken!  
And I'll I've spoken are truths!  
Take your lovely locks and your trembling lips  
Take your frightened, wide eyed stare  
Rip your voice out of our heads  
And keep your useless prayers! _

(DIFFERENT SCENE)

REYER: How could this happen? How could we all come to this?

ANIS: (Softly) Why?

MEG: (Looks away, ashamed of her lie and of Anis' saddened gaze)

JAMMES: There is only one option! Get her out of here!

REYER: What?

MARIA BELLE: She is disturbed.

JAMMES: Precisely! We can't have a raving woman running around, scribbling death threats! Ban her!

ANDRE: Ban her?

JAMMES: She is never to set foot inside the Opera House again!

FIRMIN: Well, I suppose a banned madwoman would bring publicity.

JAMMES: (Runs over to the large double doors leading to the stage area and opens them) Meg Giry is responsible for the accidents and the glass in my slippers! Look! She has confessed it!

(The cast files out into the room, all shocked and furious at once)

ANDRE: (Whispers to Firmin) What do we do?

FIRMIN: (To Andre) Relax. (To all) In light of the circumstances, I have no choice but to ban Meg Giry from the Opera Populair.

MEG: (Tries to rush towards the managers but no one will let her through) No…

FIRMIN: Indefinitely.

(The cast gasps and murmurs among themselves, not quite yet satisfied)

ANDRE: (Trying to usher everyone away) Now, if you could all join us for refreshments backstage.

JAMMES: Out with her!

ANIS: No, wait!

* * *

Things look grim for Meg! What will happen? ...I dunno. Well, I do. But I'm not telling! Read and Review. I'm not quite happy with that part of the Meg/Christine fight. Will they make up? Probably. But don't place bets or anything!  



	25. Episode 23

Link: You can't fire me!

Authoress: I can do anything I want.

Link: No you can't! This is fictional character cruelty! I'm calling the ASPCA!

Authoress: The ASPCA only cares about animals! Plus, you don't know ow to work the phone.

Link: B-but why?

Authoress: Because my twiny came to visit and we started watching fruits basket. I fell in love with the series all over again...

Link: ...so?

Authoress: SO! I have a new, less effeminate narrator.

Link: Who... WHO?

Authoress: Excellent introduction, Link! (Turns to readers) Everyone welcome Hatsuharu from fruits basket! Call him Haru for short.

Haru: (Walks in, looking disoriented) This isn't the kitchen... (Spotlight flashes on him) Huh?

Authoress: I see your sense of direction is as bad as ever! Well Haru, say hello to the readers.

Haru: Um. Okay. (Waves)

Authoress: Now take of your shirt for the reviewers!

Haru: What? Uh, alright... I guess. (Does so)

Authoress: (Drools)

Link: (Sniff) But... I thought you loved ME! Oh, and Erik too.

Erik: HEY!

Authoress: I _do _love you Link! Oh, and Erik too.

Erik: HEY!

Authoress: That's why I'm going to lock you both up in my closet and start the story.

Erik/Link: What?

Authoress: Don't worry, Haru won't be narrating today. But soon! And here we go!

Haru: ... yay... whatever.

**Episode 23**

A hospital room. As grim a setting as there can be.

"Doot… doot… doot… doot…"

Silent weeping, repressed angers, surfacing regrets…

"Doot… doot… doot… doot…"

Confessed guilts, quiet prayers, hidden requests…

"Doot… doot… doot… doot…"

A woman, so petite it seems she was rushed out of childhood, sits by his bedside, clutching his hands tightly until her delicate, little knuckles are white as her face. She clings to him as if he is the only force holding her to this Earth. As if without him she fears she will fly up into the sky and be unable to come back down. Unable… or unwilling.

"Doot… doot… doot… doot…"

Such somber settings suit me not. (Ooh alliteration!) I suppose that is why I can't help myself.

"Doot… doot… doot… doot…"

Especially seeing those wide eyes of hers fill with tears. I feel as if I was to touch one that it would pop and water would leak all over me.

"Doot… doot… doot… doot…"

"Misty! Stop with the 'doot' sounds already! We get it! His heart is beating! Now shh!"

I roll my eyes and slump back in my chair. I don't mean to be unsympathetic; it's just that I'm so bored!

"W-what d-does the sound d-doot have t-to d-do w-with a heart-t?" The bug-eyed moron asks, sniffling on Raoul's shirt. Yeah, like that's going to help him wake up any faster.

"Nothing. It's… before its time. Just like practically everything else about Misty." Willow covers. I don't know why she's so nice to Mrs. Fop. But maybe that's just Willow's personality.

You know, I'd be more concerned if Raoul wasn't snoring. That's usually a big indicator that everything is alright. Still, we're all sitting here, pretending to be worried. Christine is just eating up the attention. Naturally. What an actress she is.

I bet it's not even Raoul she's worried about, but what will become of _her_. Without the fop she has no husband to take care of her. She might actually have to do things for herself. That must be a frightening thought. I wonder if she'd go so far as to run back to the Phantom…

Oh, how do I know all this? Madame Giry told Willow. They've become buddies, always coming up with bluffs and keeping enigmatic secrets together. I don't mind though, I like Madame Giry. Besides, Willow always fills me in so I'm not left out.

"My love…" Christine whispers, her eyes bulging and looking like they're ready to pop out of her skull. I stifle a giggle at the thought. Willow casts me a glare and I settle down. Christine is kissing his forehead now. "I love you, Raoul…" And maybe it's true. Maybe somewhere, deep down through that selfish child who can't see past her own grief, she _does_ love him. You see, Christine isn't a bad person; it would be a lie to say that she was. But she _is_ selfish and childish. But these are simply traits of her immaturity, not because she's a bad person.

Still, she's not seventeen anymore. Sometimes I just wish someone would slap her and shout "Grow up!" But no one ever does and it's not my place to do so. Even if it was, Willow wouldn't let me. She can be a killjoy that way, even if she's only doing it to be kind.

Sigh… we've been here for hours! I really wish we could go. What's more, Willow and I should have left by now. It's not safe. I start bouncing my leg in nervousness. Madame Giry makes a death symbol at me. I cross my ankles to stop the twitch and try my best to put on a compassionate smile. I bet I look more like a hobbit who's had bad sushi.

Yes, I know what a hobbit is. And no, I don't know how a hobbit would get a hold of sushi. Let alone bad sushi.

The doctor comes back in, wearing a golfing hat. You know, the ones that look like berets but with a fluffy ball on top. Christine does not notice this. Even unconscious Raoul winces. I want to laugh but Madame Giry and Willow both give me a warning glare. I sit back in my seat and pout, dejected. Ann pats my shoulder understandingly and stifles her own giggles. I like Ann. Never has there been more clever a young girl. If only that idiot genius little Erik could see that. But meh. Eriks will be Eriks.

"As far as I can tell, Monsieur de Chagny's mind if furiously at work, rather than almost shut down like most comatose patient." The doctor says. "When the mind cannot act normally due to circumstances beyond its control, it will try to find other ways out. Other ways to function, to act." I know this already. That's how some people develop certain psychic abilities.

"In the process, his mind may reach out and make new connections within itself. Some perhaps even unnatural." The doctor continues. "And I base this on absolutely nothing." He ends, completely serious.

Christine is in tears again. The doctor's gone, probably off to play badminton judging by the hat he changed into on the way out.

An awkward silence fills the room. All is quiet but for the sound of Christine's cries. What I would do for a disruption right about now.

Madame Giry is the first to speak, her face straight though not unkind. "I told him to keep his hand at the level of his eyes." She says with a shrug. "I didn't mean it for just the Phantom's lair. It could come in handy for _all_ situations. Playing soccer? Hand at the level of your eyes. Popcorn thrown at your head in the theatre? Hand at the level of your eyes. Hail storm? Hand at the level of your eyes. Tax collectors? Hand at the level of your eyes." No one quite gets the last one, but we heed this advice anyway.

"Oh, p-poor Raoul." Christine sniffles. Her stutter isn't cute, I hope she knows that.

Madame Giry is fiddling with her skirts. Has she tired of this setting as well? Hen perhaps she has an idea! She always does! Or at least a bluff…

"I suppose we should go out to buy him new lilac slippers, for when he wakes." She says kindly.

"Yes… lilac slippers." Christine echoes. Suddenly Raoul stirs.

"Gasp! He's waking up!"

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"_Where is he?"_ Meg asked for the seventh time, singing now.

"You mean me?" I joked, entering the living room to find her lying on her back, head hanging off the edge of the chaise.

"I mean your father! _Where is he?_" Again with the singing.

"Well how should I know?"

She turned onto her stomach and propped herself up on one hand, pointing at me with the other. _"I want an answer! It takes a madman to know one!"_

I sighed, laughing at her impatience. We had woken this morning to find my papa missing. He had left no indication of where he had gone or when he would be back, but it had been hours now and Meg wanted to get this card game over with. "You know, Meg. If I didn't know any better I'd say this whole card match has you nervous."

"Me? Nervous?" She gave a forced laugh and sat cross-legged on the chaise. "Please. Nervousness indicates worry or fear. When it comes to cards, what is there to fear about the Phantom?"

_"What's all this nonsense?"_ said a familiar voice from the Rue Scribe entrance. Meg squealed and fell off the chaise, almost fainting.

"Ah, papa! Glad you could make it. We were beginning to wonder… where… you… were… Uh… What are those?" He held bags, fat and full. It was a strange scene, the Phantom of the Opera holding what appeared like groceries before his secret entrance.

"Supplies." He replied casually, placing the bags on the floor. "And gifts for my victims. It is only polite, after all. Before death, one final request."

"Death?" Meg, who had just picked herself up off the ground, squealed again and proceeded to fall behind the chaise.

"I am going to kill you both in cards, you see." He continued, rummaging through the bags. "This is for you." He handed me a small paper box. I was not too interested really, until I sensed a familiar aroma.

"Is this… is it…?" I tore through the box in three rips. "It _is_!" Licorice. I _adore_ licorice, you see. No gift could have been sweeter. Well, perhaps in the literal sense, yes. But that isn't what I mean!

"Don't eat them all before the match. A sugar induced euphoria makes it difficult for one to concentrate." I looked up skeptically, giving him my best 'how would you know?' look. "Believe me. Why do you think it took me so long to write Don Juan Triumphant?"

OoOoOoOoOoOoFlashback! Yeah!OoOoOoOoOoOo

(Erik is trying to compose Don Juan on the organ. Empty chocolate and licorice boxes lie scattered all over the lair)

Erik: (Scribbling… uh… something) _I like trees. Treeeeeeeeees!_

OoOoOoOoOoOoEnd Flashback!OoOoOoOoOoOo

"So the original words to _Point of No Return_ were _I like trees_?" Meg asked, coming towards us to join the conversation, all fear forgotten.

"Yes. Now stop talking." He answered curtly, reaching into his bags to retrieve another box. "Here." He said gruffly, tossing it nonchalantly into her hands. "For you. Now fetch the cards."

But Meg did not move to fetch them right away. For a few moments she stayed put, starring incredulously at the rectangular, smooth but sturdy, black box in her hands. I did not waste a second to stuff half my gift into my mouth.

"What is it?" Meg asked softly, stroking the box tenderly.

"Maybe it's candy too." I suggested. "Fancy candy by the looks of the packaging. Ooh! Maybe it's imported Swiss chocolate!"

He didn't answer. By now papa had gone to put away the supplies.

"Me-eg! Maybe you should get the ca-ards!" I hinted, my voice sing-song.

"Oh, right!" Her eyes unglazed and she hurried away to her makeshift room beside the chaise, shutting the curtain. Women, so sentimental about a pretty box! Really, he _had_ said it was a last request type gift!

But, que sera sera! Whatever that means. So I went off to the living room, popping a couple extra licorice pieces for the game.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Of course little Erik wouldn't know what it was. I didn't either, for I hadn't opened it yet. But I had my suspicions. They were just about the right size to be… could they? It was impossible! This brand and style was no longer produced! They were an old type yet they were obviously in new condition; never worn. The perfect size too.

With deft, trembling fingers, I undid the string tying the lid onto the box. Then, my hands unsteady as they've ever been, I lifted the lid; trying to banish any hopes incase they would be crushed. I closed my eyes as I pulled the lid away, revealing the box underneath.

There they were. Wrapped in simple, thin, rough paper. Ballet shoes; just like my mother's old ones. The right color, the perfect size, but brand new. Never used, perhaps only opened a few times before. But where had he gotten them? Furthermore, how did he know my mother's old slippers had been destroyed?

It was not an act of kindness. Not even of civility. He was trying to frighten me. Trying to prove that he had pure dominance over my mind, over my soul. He wanted me to panic, to lose hold on myself. If I knew anything about this man, which was very little, it was that he would not take well to losing. The last time he had lost what he had really wanted, an entire Opera House had burned to the ground.

I heard a crinkling sound and realized I was smashing the shoes in my grip. With a sudden exhale I dropped the shoes. I was gasping. No, I couldn't let him do this to me. I had to stay calm. I had to remain above the influence!

(Erik, my anti-drug.)

With a deep, calming breath, I gently laid the shoes back in their box. Securing the lid snugly over the box, I pushed the Phantom's gift under the chaise. No more. "My turn now, Phantom." I whispered to myself encouragingly.

I snatched up the cards beside me, stood, and drew back the curtain. "Let's do this!" I exclaimed, letting my Giry's blood fuel me with the wits and the strength I needed.

"Meg, you don't have to shout. We're right here." Said little Erik, sitting before me at a table he had placed in the living room. Erik sat across from him, giving me an equally confused stare.

"Oh, yes. Well, just trying to add some atmosphere." I covered quickly and took my seat between them. I placed my hands in my lap, staring straight ahead into the lake.

"… Ahem. The cards?"

"Meg, you okay?" Little Erik asked with concern.

"Oh, yes! The cards. Oh, I'm fine." I took the cards from my lap and placed them center table. To make sure all was fair, little Erik shuffled and dealt.

"Alright, there. Everyone look at your cards!" Little Erik said excitedly. I checked my own.

Not a bad hand at all. In fact, quite a decent one. It would not be difficult to achieve victory, not for me. I could do this! "Thank you for the gift, Erik. It was lovely." I said calmly, surprising Erik, and myself, with my acting. I could do this!

From the corner of my eye I noticed little Erik, who looked completely puzzled and oblivious as to what he was doing. No matter, I could handle this alone. I shifted my gaze to Erik, but his expression was unreadable. Again, not a problem. Fate had been good to me, I had received good cards, and my natural talent was pumping through me at full speed. I _could_ do this. I just had to stay strong, as stony and unreadable as my opponent.

Erik met my glance with a smirk, picking out two cards from his hand.

The game had begun.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"Raoul?" Christine said, clutching his hand.

"Christine?" Madame Giry said, sitting up.

"Misty!" I said, gesturing for Misty to pay attention.

"Wi-llow!" Misty sung, annoyed.

"Shh!" Ann hushed us to listen.

On the bed, Raoul stirred. His eye lids fluttered rapidly, and then opened. Everyone held their breath as his gaze drifted across the room, trying to make sense of his surroundings and the situation, no doubt. Slowly he began to sit up, resting his weight on his elbows behind him. Silence. Misty coughed once. I turned and snapped at her.

"Where…?" Everyone turned their attention back to Raoul, simultaneously. "Why am I in a hospital?"

I breathed a sigh of relief. He was fine. Perhaps then Christine _would_ allow Ann refuge.

"You were unconscious, honey." Christine said, sickeningly sweetly. Misty cringed. I couldn't blame her. The former soprano _was_ overdoing it.

"Was I? Oh, I hope I have not caused anyone any inconvenience. That would be most troublesome. I hate to be a burden. But perhaps I could reward them for their loyalty and compassion. Let us all out to lunch then, shall we? Not to worry, I shall bare the bill."

The sound of a roomful of jaws dropping was heard. Do you know what that sounds like? Similar to the sound of one hand clapping.

"M-monsieur de Chagny. Are you… quite alright?" Madame Giry asked, being the first to recover.

"Yes, I'm actually quite alright. In fact I have never felt more exuberant in all my life! Come, call in the doctor so I may discuss with him the extent of the damage caused by my prolonged comatose state. Then we can all click our heels and be off!" He said kindly, his warm smile unwavering.

"What… the crap?" Misty voiced what we were all thinking. Thank goodness for her.

"What, is something the matter? Have I upset you, mademoiselle Breyer? Forgive me, I meant not to cause any distress."

"… I repeat. What the crap?" Madame Giry hurried out of the room. Raoul cast me a concerned gaze in return.

"Monsieur de Chagny, we mean no disrespect. Nor do we mean to cause you concern. It's just… you seem very sharp today." I said, trying my best to paste an inviting smile on my face. I failed.

"Sharp, am I?" He laughed, good-naturedly. "Well I should hope you would be careful then, to avoid my sharp wit's end. We would not want to stumble and catch out pretty laces upon it, would we?" Now he was using metaphors even I didn't understand! Or was than an analogy?

"No… we wouldn't." I echoed, at a loss for words.

"It was a joke, Madame Rose! Do not take it to heart!" Raoul said with another laugh. "You have nothing to fear from me but fear itself!"

"Now he's philosophy-ing!" Cried Ann, hiding her face in Misty's arms.

"The word is philosophizing, Winanona." Raoul corrected playfully. Christine fainted.

Madame Giry returned then, dragging the good doctor by the ear. "What ze 'ell eez goin' on?" She demanded, very angry and very French.

Doctor Ess Char Goe sighed, removing his baseball gloves. "Remember that whole thing I said about the brain finding other ways out when it's trapped?"

"…no."

"Yes you do! I went into detail about, oh say, four or five pages ago." We all scrolled up and found that, indeed, he had explained such a phenomenon. Not very well, mind you, but he had.

"Wait a minute!" Misty interjected, pushing herself up from her chair. "That sort of thing takes years! A person would have to be in a coma for a very long time, not a few hours!" I nodded pointedly in assent.

"Well, he was a very extreme case of stupid. It did not take much to improve him." The doctor explained with a shrug.

"What are you saying?" Christine said from the floor, miraculously awake.

"I'm saying, Madame de Chagny, that your husband is no longer a fop!"

Christine fainted…

…

…

…again.

* * *

Next Time 

Raoul: What's with my record books? They all have crayon pictures of jars!

Christine: That's how you do your tazes, dearest.

Raoul: Well, I suppose it is time to start anew! I'm going out for a hard day's work of... what do I do again?

Christine: Hell if I know.

Raoul: Right. A hard day's work of viscout-ing!

Meanwhilest...

Meg: Do you have any... eightes?

Erik: Go fish!

Meg: NOOOOO!

Lil Erik: What the crap? I thought we were playing poker!

Meg: Oh... yeah.

Erik: Damn, you! You shall pay for this!

Lil Erik: Oh yeah? How?

Candles: (Flicker and die)

Lil Erik: Ahh! The lights!

Erik: NO! I'm too young and beautiful to die!

Meg: ...?

Erik: Sorry. I always wanted to say that... ... ... ... I'll go relight the candles.

Haru: Moo. Do where is that kitchen? I've been looking all morning and I still can't find it.

Authoress: Phew, I'm sure glad no one's made black Haru reveal himself.

Haru: If I don't find that fridge soon I'll... I'll... HARU SMASH!

Authoress: 0.0

Next Time!


	26. Episode 24 aka The Return

**Somwhere, in the Authoress's old closet, months later... **

**Link: **Erik, what're you watching? I thought you hated television.

**Erik: **I do! But it's "Drawn Together." And that Xandir is _so _you!

**Link: **What? I'm not gay!

**Erik: **Mhm. Then explain the dress.

**Link: **It's a tunic! And what about your sexy little metrosexual cape there, huh man?

**Erik: **Ah, touche.

**Haru: **(Walks in) Hey, this isn't the bus station.**  
**

**Erik: **Well, his sense of direction is as bad as ever.

**Link: **Yeah. But somehow I don't feel like playing pranks on him today.

**Erik: **Likewise.

**Haru: **Yeah, all the life seems to have gone out of this place since the Authoress moved out, months ago.

**Link: **Yeah. Forgetting us in the closet.

**Erik: **What an inconciderate dolt.

**Haru: **(Eye twitches)

**Link: **I mean, she could've at least warned us!

**Erik: **Just look at me. I've been reduced to watching television!

**Haru: **(Goes black) What is WRONG with you two? Here you are, sitting around, feeling sorry for yourselves and blaming her! What about the Authoress's feelings, huh? She was so desperate to leave her parents that she moved out the day after she turned 18 and left to go live with her brother in another friggin state where she doesn't even know anyone! How alone do you think she must feel right now? Not to mention confused! Her whole life is ahead of her, and she doesn't even know what she's doing!

**Erik: **Yeah, but-

**Haru: **But NOTHING! You selfish jerks! No wonder she left us all behind! The way you treat her when even the tineist thing goes wrong...

**Link: **Wait, did you say out of state? (Reaches into tunic) So THAT'S why she left me these two plance tickets.

**Erik: **...

**Haru: **...

**Erik: **Are... you... STUPID?

**Haru: **She left us TICKETS? She must be waiting for us!

**Erik: **And we never came.

**Haru: **She must be crushed!

**Link: **Uh... oops?

**Haru: **Wait, it's alright. We can still go after her!

**Link: **But there's only two tickets and three of us!

**Erik: **I fail to see how that is a problem. (Snatches tickets) After all, we are allowed one carry-on bag.

**Haru: **Hey, yeah. I'll go get the big suitcase.

**Erik: **No, that'll be to bulky. Get the small one and we'll cram him in it.

**Link: **Fop, dammit.

**Episode 24**

This was it. The moment of truth. I had been worried at some point when the hand I thought I had prepared didn't work out, but I had caught up quickly. Four of a kind; the third highest hand possible. What were the chances Erik could beat that? After all, he couldn't have had too many people to play against in his life. It was time.

"Four of a kind." I said, smooth and collected.

Erik was silent for a moment, not even looking away from his cards to check my hand. His face was as stoic as rock. For a moment I wondered if he had heard me, if I should repeat myself. But then, just as I opened my mouth to speak, he sighed and placed his cards face down.

"You could still take it back, Marguerite." He said gently, patiently. "Final chance."

It was confusing, to say the least. Was he actually trying to fool me into relinquishing my victory? But why? This did not seem very like him. I looked over at little Erik. He was flipping his cards this way and that as if he couldn't tell which way was up. It was hopeless. Either I trusted in my skill or I risk losing my chance to finally reach the Phantom, against his will or otherwise!

"Thank you, but I believe I shall remain with what I have been dealt." I gave him a brazen smile, challenging him.

Erik sighed again and revealed his hand: A straight flush. I could feel the blood flush out of my face. How? How had I lost?

"I know you were once considered quite a card shark among the ballet corps. Your style of play is unmistakable, albeit predictable."

"But… how?"

"I know everything." He said simply, his eyes darkening in contrast to his calm tone.

"Okay, my turn!" Little Erik said excitedly and put down his hand.

"W-what?"

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"Christine, what is this?" Raoul asked, pointing to our bookcase. "There is no order here! Not alphabetically, not by date written, not by author or genre! What is this?"

"It's in color order, my dear. Just as you organized it." I showed him how beautifully the blue hued book blended with the magenta and greens.

"This is preposterous! How am I to find what I am searching for?"

"The color guide, of course." I answered obviously; taking Raoul to the chart which little Erik had designed to find whatever book he needed shortly before he left.

"The color guide? My lord, first I have to ride in a carriage safety seat and now this. What sort of knave was I?"

"A fop, love." I corrected, holding his hand for comfort. "A fop."

"Indeed! A fop of the most foolish kind. No thought to spare but for the harmony of my outfit against my complexion! Oh woe, to know thine own faults once time whilst not allow to correct!" He grabbed his hair in frustration, not seeming to care about mussing it, and left up the stairs. He was acting so strangely…

I sat by the fireplace, considering. On the one hand, this meant Raoul could now be trusted to chew his own food without adult supervision. On the other hand, this meant I would have to be the one concerned with our attire from now on.

"CHRISTINE!" He bellowed from upstairs. I smiled and came quickly to our room.

"Yes, dear?"

"What is this? Our bedding and pillows placed in such a fashion!"

"That's you bed fort, love." I said sympathetically, demonstrating how the propped up pillows and the sheets draped over them could hide one from the outside world. "It is to protect you from Gabberdoosh."

"… protect me from what?"

"Gabberdoosh! The monster who lives under our bed." I sat him down on a chair, for he looked about to faint. "He comes from the land of 'NoFashion' and hates anyone who has shiner hair than him." Raoul stared back incredulously.

"Please Christine, if you have any love for your husband; tell me this tale was of your own invention!"

"The tale is of my own invention." I repeated, smiling still.

"Oh thank heaven—wait. Do you mean it?"

"Of course not, Raoul." I laughed at his apparent puzzlement. "I don't have your imagination!"

Raoul groaned, a most unbecoming sound which I had been certain he'd never produce, and stood to leave. "I won't be long. I just need a moment away from so much idiocy!"

"But Raoul, you can't leave!" I grabbed his arm firmly, pulling him back to bed. "The good doctor says you must not have too much social exposure until you are more stable."

"Christine, do you even know what that means?"

"No." Why would I need to? "But I would think it would mean you shouldn't go outside."

"Christine…" Raoul sighed, his voice weak though I couldn't tell why. "I'll stay, just… please… If I could have but an hour of your silence. Just stay beside me, here in my arms. That I may know I have a wife and not just a girl who wears my ring!"

"Of course!" He sounded so desperate. His face, seeming so disgusted with himself, he reminded me so of my angel. Suddenly, I couldn't bear his presence. My heart ached and I did not want to know why. "I'm sorry Raoul; I have to go… check on Philippe." I rushed out as quickly as I could, my skirts rustling in the suffocating silence.

Behind me, I could hear Raoul speak. "What the hell is… a jar opener? Why would I have a jar opener under my pillow?" A pause and then, "Never mind. I'd rather not know."

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"W-what?"

"You already said that." My Papa pointed out, annoyed.

"A royal flush! But how?" Meg's hair was standing on end in a most comical way. She was cute.

"Don't look so scared Meg!" I smiled, reminding. "If one of us wins then it counts as a win for both of us. You win, Meg."

"B-but… you don't know how to play!" Meg cried, wanting to be happy but too lost in confusion to do so.

"And you didn't even change a single one of your cards! You passed all your turns!" My papa shouted.

"Is that even possible?" Meg said looking over my cards in disbelief.

"It might as well be impossible, considering the odds! You'd have to take the fraction of one card over all the cards in the deck and multiply it by the fraction of each other individual card in his hand! And the possibility of it happening on your first game completely ELDUES me!" My papa rambled, trying to find the exact mathematical number of my odds.

"How?" Meg trembled.

"Easy." I smiled. "I cheated."

A pause.

"You… huh?" Meg looked to my papa for an explanation.

"Of course." My papa's eyes widened in understanding. "When you were shuffling. You found the cards you wanted and placed them in a strategic order so that when you dealt, you'd receive all the cards you had placed."

"Mhm!" I said excitedly. "I read the highest hand possibilities off the back of the card box and formulated a fail-proof plan!"

"Brilliant!" My papa said, strangely amused. "YOU MAH SON!"

"Oh, quit it!" I said, blushing.

Meg stared, her eye twitching. "Wait…"

"So what was the order? Every third card?" My papa inquired, growing increasingly excited.

"You know it!" I replied.

Meg continued to gawk. "Hold on…"

"But you know, of course, this is the only time I'll ever be proud of you?"

"Oh, I know papa. It's okay. After all, not everyone's cut out to be father material."

"STOP!" Meg shrieked, her nails clawing into the table and her eyes disproportionably sized, even from each other. "You… cheated? So, what? We win?"

My papa's demeanor suddenly changed, becoming cold, distant. I was sad to see him change…

"No. You lose." He stated simply. "Obviously, you lost. And little Erik here is disqualified for cheating."

"Hey!" I protested. "Cheating was my strategy! I won fair and square! … sort of."

"Well, winning was MY strategy." My papa insisted. "And cheating only counts as a strategy when it's not being used against me!" He stood angrily.

"But that's not fair!" Meg squealed. "If he hadn't confessed we wouldn't have known."

"That was his mistake." My papa continued, wanting quiet and disinterested in justice.

"Oh, you stubborn, selfish, horrible man!" Meg cried, standing as well. "How can you do this to your own son? I can understand your hatred of me, but little Erik is your own flesh and blood!"

"Flesh and blood do not compensate a mistake!"

Meg froze. My papa had meant to refer to my cheating. Instead it ended up sounding as if _I_ was a mistake of _his_.

"You don't mean that." Meg said, recovering quickly and turning to embrace me. "He doesn't mean that." She repeated to me.

"And what if I do?" My papa bellowed, throwing his chair across the room and into the lake. "The boy is obviously not wanted. Neither by myself nor by Christine!"

"That's a lie!" Meg insisted. I just watched, feeling completely disconnected from the conversation, despite the fact that it was about me.

"Is it?" The Phantom kicked the table aside, the cards fluttering to the floor. He advanced on Meg, who picked me up and held me in her arms protectively.

"Don't listen to him, sweetheart. He doesn't mean it." She cooed softly into my ear, though I could hear her fear.

"His mother is obviously doing very well up there," he gestured disgustedly at the ceiling, "with her other son! The one that isn't the product of _her_ mistake with a monster!"

"You _are_ a monster!" Meg spat, hiding my head in her shoulder. I stared into the fabric of her blouse. When had this all gone so wrong? "A monster to speak this way in front of your son!"

"But Marguerite! He is a half-monster!" He said, mocking rationalization. "Monsters don't _feel_!"

Meg backed into a wall. In desperation she screamed, "He is a boy! And a beautiful one! And he is loved more than you will _ever_ be!" The Phantom stilled. My ears throbbed from having heard Meg's words screech up from her chest.

The Phantom smirked and turned around. He began to walk away, seemingly unaffected. Meg exhaled in relief and lowered me to the ground.

In an instant the Phantom had rushed back and I felt myself fly up into mid-air. He had scooped me up in his icy grip.

"No!" Meg yelped. But it was too late. The Phantom grabbed me roughly, squeezing my arms, dragged me into the sitting room, and held me up over the fire.

"He is so loved." He ridiculed Meg's words furiously. "And what difference does it make? With a face like that, no one is going to save you!" I whined from the pain of his harsh grip, but his words didn't quite seem to reach me.

"Don't! Good, god, Erik! He is your son!" Meg was bawling behind us. But she dared not step forward. The memory of me dropping slippers into the fire as she watched came to mind.

"Yes, I suppose he is my son." The Phantom continued, unmoved. "It would be a mercy, then, to end his suffering before he learns the true meaning of the word."

"No! God, save him. Save me. Save us all…"

It clicked in me then, just what was going on. I wanted to laugh! I was so careless to have let myself space out at a time like this! He was going to drop me into the fire! And I knew why. The same reason I had dropped those stupid slippers. He wasn't mad, not really. I hadn't been. My poor papa…

"Papa…" I said reaching out a hand to brush his face. He recoiled harshly. "It's okay papa." I could feel fear beginning to bubble up in me, as I assessed the situation. But I tried to push it away for the moment. "I know she's not coming back for me. But… it's alright. Because, I'm not waiting for her anymore."

"Erik…" Meg whispered reverently.

"You shouldn't wait for her anymore either, papa. She's not coming back. Not for you."

"You insolent whelp! I'll kill you!" He wrapped his hands around my throat and slammed me against a wall. Although I was having trouble breathing, being held up by my throat and all, I calmed. A least I wasn't over the fire anymore.

"Erik!" Meg ran and grabbed his shoulder. The Phantom merely released his hold on me and pushed her back. I fell to the floor with a thud.

"Do not presume to know me! I am the Phantom of the Opera!" he roared.

"You're no more a ghost than Meg is." I said simply, catching my breath as I stood. "I know, it isn't easy. It feels better to pretend that she'll come back. That maybe she's still unsure or afraid. To pretend that she'll mature and realize her mistake. But papa, she won't change. And deep down, you know she won't."

Meg sat in silence where she had fallen, starring at the floor in front of her.

"It hurts to pretend. It may hurt more to admit the truth to yourself, at first. But then you can grow beyond the hurt. But as long as you pretend, you'll stay in pain. You have to let the truth in, even if it leaves you vulnerable. Even if it makes you feel lonely or scared."

I paused for a moment. The Phantom took this opportunity to sink to his knees and grab my shoulders, shaking me. "Shut up! You don't know what you're saying!" His gloved fingers dug into my skin. I tried hard not to wince.

"And you know…" My eyes were tearing up. I couldn't help it. My arms hurt! He was too rough! "I was actually pretty lonely when I was with her." I sniffled. "But now, I'm not lonely anymore." My voice shook. His expression had softened but he wouldn't let go of my arms! "Because now I have Meg… and _you_, papa! And I wouldn't give that up for anything! Not even for Maman!"

I let go. I let myself cry, and cry hard. I hadn't cried this way since the time Maman had first left me down here. But I was really sore and faking that dramatic speech had left me tired and cranky!

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I looked up at the sound of little Erik's cries. The Phantom's face was a terribly pained one as he finally relinquished his grip, only to pull Little Erik into his arms and cradle the boy against him.

Then little Erik's childish, nasally cries were joined by Erik's stifled, deep sobs. Both of them just sat there, holding on to each other, crying desperately over a woman who had perhaps forgotten both of them.

I slowly stood and silently excused myself. I had no place in that room. I was nobody. Not Little Erik's mother. Not Erik's wife. I was just a stupid girl who had thought for a moment that perhaps…

Perhaps what? What had I hoped to gain?

I was a fool.

I went over to the table that Erik had thrown in his fit and straightened it. Unfortunately it had fallen on the chaise where I slept and ruined it. I sighed; too numb to care where I would sleep that night.

I kneeled onto the hard, cold floor and began gingerly picking up the scattered cards, my grip barely strong enough to hold the thin sheets. I continued the task for quite a while, pausing every now and then as my mind drifted.

Once the cards had been organized and stacked, I left them on the table and proceeded to my makeshift room.

Without thinking, I began to pack my things. _I shouldn't be here._ The feeling began echo in my mind. _I shouldn't be here. I don't belong. I'm intruding._ I began to pack faster, more furiously. _I have to leave. I have to get out of here. I have to go. I SHOULDN'T BE HERE!_

I couldn't breathe.

I stopped, slamming my palm on my chest and took deep breaths, trying to calm myself. It was alright. _I_ was alright. I just had to go through this calm and collected. Just pack my things quietly and slip out before I made anymore of a mess of matters.

I thought I was ready, when I remembered. The ballet slippers. A gift from Erik. I couldn't accept this. Or worse, I _wouldn't_ accept this. Not from him. Not from such a monster. But I couldn't bother The Phantom at the moment, and I did not just want to leave the slippers here like I had forgotten them. No, I wanted him to _know_ I had rejected his gift.

So, gathering up my courage for, what I thought was, the final time; I crept into the Phantom's private bedroom.

My breath caught in my throat. Compared to the luxury of little Erik's room, as well as most of the lair, I hadn't imagined… But for a few candles and a piano in the corner, covered with mounds of music sheets, the room was bare and hollow. Then my eyes focused on the center of the room. There, lying were a bed normally would be, lay his coffin.

I drew in a sharp breath, but my fear left me as quickly as I had come. I wouldn't have to worry about his eccentric life-style much longer, after all.

I dropped the slippers on the coffin, reasoning that it would be the most obvious place for him to see it, trying to focus my vision elsewhere the entire time. Just beyond the coffin, on the corner opposite the piano, was a washroom. But it wasn't the washroom that interested me. Rather, it was the bag sitting just inside the washroom.

I remembered, those were the bags that the Phantom had brought earlier that day. Among the items had been little Erik's licorice and the replica of my mother's ballet slippers. But what else had been among such objects?

_I should go. _Common sense rung in my mind, but my curiosity was too willful for it. If I left now, I'd never know. I might wonder what was in that bag for the rest of my life! And in would only take a second…

Cautiously I tip-toed over to the bag, stepping slowly so as to prevent the sound of footsteps. I moved excruciatingly slow, so that by the time I reached my destination my legs had begun to ache. Ignoring the pain, in took in a deep breath and exhaled as slowly as I had moved. With one hand I opened the bag, cringing as it made a crinkling noise, and with my free hand I reached in.

Out came a small vial marked 'Kise.' I blinked. The brand, Kise? The very brand I had used as an excuse to cover my slip with the Phantom? But why would he have run out to buy this now? Nothing I said had any real importance to him! Unless of course, something I had said really DID have any real importance to him. In which case, nothing I said didn't not have no importance to him. Wait, what?

"Ahem."

I spun rapidly, almost dropping the vial with my sudden movement. There, before me, upon the threshold of his room, the very room in which I was intruding, stood the Phantom.

"M-m-monsieur!" I gasped! Barely able to put syllables together.

"_That_," he motioned to the vial, "mademoiselle, is mine."

Not thinking I loosened my grip, the vial slipping out of my fingertips and shattering on the floor. The Phantom rolled his eyes.

"Forgive me!" I panicked, falling to my knees to clean the mess. But the Phantom raised a hand to stop me, shaking his head in a scornful manner. "Monsieur, forgive me, but…" How long had he been standing there, starring at me? "Weren't you busy having a tearful epiphany and emotional purge with your son?"

He nodded, oddly cooperative, and gestured for me to come over to him. "I was." He admitted, pulling a still bawling Little Erik in the room. "But now he won't stop crying. Do something!"

Without allowing myself a thought, lest I frighten myself, I walked right up to Little Erik and knelt before him. "What is it?" I cooed, checking him for injuries.

"He isn't hurt." The Phantom snapped, offended. "Bruised a bit at the worst, no bone nor skin broken."

I lifted little Erik's sleeves. His smooth, baby skin was blotched blue and violet. Before I could quell it, a motherly sigh escaped my lips. Lifting his arms to my lips, I planted gentle kisses over every bruise.

"There, is that better?" Little Erik nodded, trying to slow his whines while wiping his tears with his free arm. "You must be tired. Let's get you to bed." I lifted him gently, careful to avoid his bruised skin, and carried him to his room. Behind me I thought I saw Erik checking his arms for bruises too…

I tucked him in carefully, removing his shoes and mask. "But I'm not sleepy!" Little Erik protested.

"Just try." I said sweetly.

"But I'm not sleepy!" He insisted. "I'm not, I'm not, I'm not!"

"Oh, looks like someone's cranky." I smiled, planting a quick kiss on his forehead. Little Erik continued to complain as I fluffed his pillow, but as soon as he lay his head down he yawned and surrendered himself to dreamland.

I turned to leave but found Erik at the door of the room, waiting for me. He held up the bag I had packed, his expression demanding an explanation. "You're leaving?"

I snatched the bag from him; refusing to let myself fall prey to his mind games again. "Yes." I replied matter-of-factly. "I am." I marched right by him into the next room. Erik followed.

"Why?" I turned to face him, incredulous.

"Because, my presence here seems altogether problematic!" I was surprised by my own words. I sounded so articulate! I must've been _really_ upset.

I was surprised, however, to find Erik tuck his hands behind his back and hang his head in response. "No… not in actuality." He shrugged, kicking at the floor. "I suppose the problematic one would have to be myself." He looked away, the masked side of his face facing me so I could not read his expression.

I was at a loss for words. What did he want? "Well, I… should go."

"No don't!" His hand shot out to stop, but he stopped himself before he made contact. "That is, I don't believe Little Erik would appreciate you leaving without so much as a tearful, overdramatic farewell."

I suddenly felt very selfish. What had I been thinking? I couldn't leave Little Erik alone with this madman! This madman who currently was behaving himself more like a child who wanted something but didn't know how to ask.

"Erik, if there's something you want, just say it! I really am in no mood to play these games." I replied bluntly. Erik immediately went rigid, trying to regain his composure.

"Something _I_ want? From _you_? What could _I_ possibly want from _you_?" He spat defensively.

"I don't know! That's why I'm asking!"

"I asked you first!" He whined, his hands tightening into fists.

"No you didn't! _I_ asked you!"

Erik stopped. "Oh, really?" He asked his finger to his lips.

"Mhm."

"Oh, my bad." Instantly he was back into a fury. "Well… I asked you second!"

"What does that have to do with anything?" I wove my fingers through my hair, ready to pull if his infuriatingly illogical logic continued to dominate the conversation.

"So...you have to answer first because… ladies first!" He yelled, slamming his fist against the wall.

"Oh, so _now_ I'm a lady? I thought you said I was a whorish ballet rat! Oh wait, maybe you're referring to yourself Erik? What with how finely you always dress? Alright then Mr. Lady! You first!" I stomped my foot for emphasis. I really had no idea what I was doing. I was just so fed up with him!

"What? Oh, you stupid little whore… Flinging insults at _me_?" He swung forward grabbing my wrists in his bone-splintering grip. "Just for that… you have to stay! Yes, you will stay and be my prisoner, working for me until you have made amends for your insolence!"

I was about to retort with _'Well, this whore isn't going to sleep with someone as ugly as you, if that's what you have in mind!'_ when it realized just what was going on here. He didn't want me to go. The situation was all a farce. He just didn't want me to leave.

In spite of myself, I smiled.

"What? What's that look for!" He yelled, though his grip loosened.

"Someone's cranky!" I said in a sing-song voice.

"W-what?"

"There, there." I said sweetly, slipping my wrists out of his hands and patting his cheeks. "Someone needs a nap." I took Erik's hand, leading him to his bedroom. He protested the entire way, but made no move against me.

"I am most certainly _not_ tired!" He bellowed, throwing his piano bench across the room defiantly.

"Of course you're not." I didn't even flinch. I was becoming accustomed to these little outbursts of his. "Now give me those hands." I removed his gloves, setting them aside and then beckoning him to the coffin where he slept.

"Marguerite, so help me, you are beginning to annoy me." He hissed between clenched teeth furiously. I ignored him and removed his wig. "Marguerite!" He caught my hand, crushing it in his hands. "You've gone too far mademoiselle. You've left me no option. I hope you enjoy the thought of your last moments with your throat in a noose. That is, after I rip out every strand of hair out of your pretty little hea—" He gasped and stilled. While he had been occupied with threatening me, I had removed his mask.

I ran my free hand across his face, wiping his sparse hair out of his eyes. Once I was satisfied, I looked up at Erik. His expression was one of complete shock. I smiled, taking the opportunity to pull him over to his coffin. He followed, without so much as a word of complaint, and sat in his strange bed.

"Now, we can continue this conversation once you're rested and rational."

"But…" His hand shot up to cover the marred side of his face. He had to be covered, I noted, before he could comfortably challenge me. "I am not weary!" he whined in an unfitting smooth, deep voice. "I'm not, I'm not, I'm not!"

I gently pulled his hand away from his face. He recoiled, but I moved forward stubbornly and kissed his forehead. "There now, just try to sleep." His eyes scanned over me, tears welling in them. This poor, broken man, whose face no woman had ever kissed so maternally.

I couldn't help myself. I leaned forward and kissed his cheek once, twice, three times more. I had to stop. The situation was heading nowhere good. Reluctantly I moved back, knowing he would be too proud to actually let me tuck him in, and smiled again. Erik only watched me, bringing his hand to cover his face once more.

I sighed. He was going to take a lot more work that little Erik had. But then again, this man had known so much more pain and so much less kindness.

I forced myself out of the room. As I shut the door, I was sure I could hear the sound of blankets being pulled over oneself. "Oh Erik…" I whispered softly. Why had I been so tempted to press myself against him? Even as we had argued, I had felt myself flush and that unfamiliar desire take me.

I wanted him…

No, no! Absurd!

But truth is often absurd. And, as I had come to learn, most anything concerning or related to Erik was absurd.

I wanted Erik and I had for quite some time. I simply had been so preoccupied with fearing him that I hadn't realized it.

I shuddered against the door, knowing just beyond it he was lying there. It would be so easy to just open the door, waltz right in, and offer myself to him. And maybe, just maybe, he'd accept the offer. Even if he didn't feel anything for me, he was still only a man, and a lonely one at that.

And if his passion was anything like his anger, I gasped just from imagining it!

I frowned at myself. I was behaving like a wanton! Maybe Erik was right. Maybe, deep down, I _was_ a whore.

I muttered, walking to the living room in search of something to clean or organize. Anything to get my mind off _him_. "Fop dammit."

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"Fop dammit." Raoul said, putting on his silk nightwear. "I wear teddy bear nightwear to bed?"

"Yes dear." I said, motioning to the bed fort. "Now come to bed. I promise, Gabberdoosh is nowhere to be found."

Raoul groaned, irritated, and lay down beside me. But he remained wide awake.

"Aw, are you having trouble sleeping dearest?" I said, sitting up. "Because I can read you a story to help you sleep."

"No, no…"

"Alright, here's one that usually puts you right to sleep! Don Quixote." I said, pulling the book out of the dresser's top drawer.

"Christine, please. In the name of all that is holy—wait. Did you say Don Quixote?" Raoul answered, sitting up interestedly.

"Yes, Raoul. It usually lulls you to sleep before I finish the first sentence."

"Let me see that!" He took the book and sat back, reading. Ha! What a novelty! Raoul actually reading! But I was even more shocked when he began laughing.

"What's so funny?" I asked, quite puzzled.

"This book!" He said between guffaws.

"B-but Raoul! That's… _intelligent_ humor!" I gasped in astonishment.

"Intelligent? How so? The guy crashes into a windmill."

"I meant relatively!" I stood, throwing my blankets aside. "Raoul, what has happened to you? You're not the man I married!"

Raoul sighed, dropping the book. "Fine." He put his hands against his cheeks and screamed monotonously. "Ahh… oh no. It's… whatever that monster's name is. Help me, oh god, help me. Christine. Ahh."

I exhaled in relief, taking back my place beside my husband. "That's better." I lay down, turning off the light beside me.

Darkness and silence settled comfortably around us.

A snicker came from beside me. "What _now_?"

"Sorry!" Raoul said, trying to keep in his laughter. "But that Don Quixote! Ah, senility is hilarious."

"Raoul!"

**Meanwhile...**

**Erik: **Question is, how do we get the bag passed through the x-ray?

**Haru: **Simple. (Tosses bag on conveyer belt.)

**Link: **(Inside bag) Oof!

**Haru: **(Takes off shirt) This ought to distract them. Better yet, get som watter and spalsh it on me so I look all sweaty.

**Erik: **(Cringes) E-ee!


	27. Episode 25

**Somewhere, in the skies...**

**Haru: **Excuse me, Ms.

**Flight Attendant: **(melts at the sight of Haru) H-hello cutie.

**Haru: **Yes, could we have any of those little baggies of roasted peanuts?

**Erik: **And a drink. Dealing with you flight attendants fangirling him all day, I _need _it.

**Flight Attendant: **(Stops) Oh.. my... stars... You're Gerard Butler!

**Erik: **(Growls) NO! I'm NOT! My name is Erik!

**Flight Attendant: **Oh. What a shame. (Turns to Haru) So he's Erik, the Gerard Butler look-alike...

**Erik: **(Snaps arm rest furiosuly)

**Flight Attendant: **...and you are?

**Haru: **Hatsuharu Sohma. Or, just Haru.

**Flight Attendant: **(Squeals) Haru!

**Haru: **(Points to Erik) Erik.

**Link: **(Muffled, from suitcase) Link!

**Flight Attendant: **What was that?

**Haru: **Nothing.

**Flight Attendant: **That didn't sound like nothing.

**Erik: **Oh yeah, well... Neither does THIS! (Punjabs flight attendant)

**Haru: **You know, you've got to stop doing that. Soon there won't be anymore flight attendants left, and I'll never get my peanuts.

**Erik: **Believe me monseiur Sohma, your nuts are the least of my concern at the moment. (Tries to stuff flight attendant into suitcase)

**Link: **Hey! Quit it! There's no more room in here! You already stuffed in, like, four others!

**Haru: **Told you we should've brought the large suitcase.

**Erik: **Punjab...

**Haru: **(Sighs) Fine. And just so you know, I heard you and Link's gay arguement earlier.

**Erik: **Yeah, so? You agree with me, right? Link's a total fairy!

**Link: **(Muffled) Am not! Now let me outta here!

**Haru: **I'm bisexual, you know.

**Link: **...

**Erik: **... (Scoots closer to the window)

**Episode 25**

I could not sleep. My body was completely anesthetized, but my mind was swarming with thoughts. Unwanted thoughts, mind you. I didn't know what to make of her kiss. I reasoned that she had grown used to the grotesque features because of the child. Had she not met little Erik before this, she would have wretched at the sight of me, of that I was certain.

She had only been trying to placate me; to hush me so she could escape. She had been trying to leave when I had caught her. Perhaps now she was already gone.

The thought troubled me more than it should have. After all, it was inevitable. She was not here for me in the first place, and once I had become more trouble than the child was worth she had left. Everyone, as few as I had to begin with, would leave me. Why would she be any different? I shifted my weight, turning on my side.

So that small peck on the forehead had been but a tool. Like a strategy in a game of cards, played delicately to distract while one acted on their true intentions. That explained the kiss then.

The first kiss anyway.

I had no notion, no shadow of perception as to why she had felt the need to repeat the gesture. Not once, not twice, but three more times. I brought a hand to that most hated area of myself. Immediately I pulled away; repulsed by the feeling of my own flesh. But the area still burned. The very place where her lips had pressed, so gently, against my putrid skin… I shifted again, turning on my opposite side so that I could bury my disfigurement against the relative coolness of the sheets. Her lips had felt so much warmer than Christine's on that night. Relaxed, not tightened in preparation. But _why_?

Had she… _desired_ me?

I banished the thought on the spot. There was no use in conjuring absurd fantasies, especially when they were untrue and uncomforting.

But the heat of those swollen lips… and the images that came to mind with them… other places which those lips could caress and scald…

I stood, throwing the sheets out of the coffin before me. I couldn't stay, lying there, my thoughts feeding my ardor. I forced myself out of the room, convincing myself that I was _not_ looking for her.

Why _would_ I look for her? I didn't particularly _want_ her here. And I had to admit I had noticed her pleasant physical appearance, however much it paled in comparison to Christine. I did not care for Marguerite Giry, the little ballet rat. I did, on more than one occasion, however, find myself lusting after her. It was only my disgust, knowing her as a whore, and the knowledge that she would spurn me anyway that kept the demons at bay.

I parted the curtain where her chaise was kept. No, not _her_ chaise. _My_ chaise. At the very least, _the_ chaise. But not hers. I allowed her to intrude upon it, but nothing of mine belonged to her. Not that it mattered. She wasn't on the chaise, which, on top of it all, had been ruined.

I dropped the curtain, my eyes scanning the room with mild interest. She had tidied the mess before she left. Good. I would've only left it there. Or, if I was in a particularly strange mood, I might've forced the child to clean.

Ah yes, the child. I had forgotten it. I did not want to contemplate what had transpired with it, or what I had almost done to it, so I didn't. I pushed the wisps of forming thoughts out of mind. No reason to stress myself needlessly.

I hoped Marguerite had not, on a feminine whim, taken the child with her. I loathed the idea of having to go through the trouble of retrieving it and then coming up with a suitable punishment for the little dancing rat.

I checked its room anyway.

I was slightly surprised to find her there, the child in her arms, its face resting on her breast. Seeing the two of them deeply asleep, I realized just how late it must have been. But I was not tired, so the thought was irrelevant. I pushed the thought away to join its fellow discardees.

I stared for a while, mildly interested. The room seemed so much warmer. I knew why, her presence was to blame. Seeing the child pressed to her breast, I envisioned myself in its place. My face, resting upon her bosom, inhaling the sweet scent of her skin's natural feminine perfumes.

Envy rose in my throat faster than I could banish it from my mind. Why did the child have such ease with women, even those who had seen his face? When I had been his age, I had been strung up in a cage. Women had screamed and fainted at the sight of me. Why was he any different?

What was more; the child was a constant reminder. I had been with a woman, with my angel no less! The supreme ironic cruelty was that I had no memory of such intimacy. And I doubted either of us had gotten much out of it anyway, considering her madness and my intense fever. I would have rather never had her at all.

I exhaled from frustration, and pent-up ardor. My vision left the thin fabric concealing Marguerite's breasts and the child resting upon them, moving upward to her face.

She was the very inverse of Christine. Christine had been delicate, classically beautiful, and graceful. Marguerite was earthy, plain—cute at best, and often clumsy. Not clumsy in a physical sense, she was an accomplished dancer. But Marguerite's mannerisms and way of speaking were so much more… _basic_. Christine had been untouchable, a goddess showered in divine light, distant and fragile. Marguerite laughed loudly, openly, and often times threw herself to the floor in her games with the child; carelessly dirtying herself in the grime of the catacombs.

But Christine had also been vulnerable, innocent and fickle. Marguerite was darker, more stable, and simply had a sense of the world that Christine did not.

Marguerite was _warm_.

That loud, open laughter of hers, the very laughter I found vulgar and unfitting for a lady, held warmth. And though I often banged on the organ keys to drown out her voice, I gently felt her warmth fill the lair.

_You just want to bed her, you beast._ My mind bit back, angry at having been pushed aside so long._ Just like you wanted Christine's voice bottled up for your music and your music alone. _I frowned at the memory. _Honestly, it's always the same story with you. If it isn't one organ, it's the other._

I stole a final glance at her face, peacefully unaware of my musings, before turning on my heel. If I could not sleep, then at least I would do well to distance myself from the source of my current physical frustrations. I was only tormenting myself by staying.

_If you want her that badly, just take her! She isn't Christine. She's a little whore, isn't she? _I blinked at the thought. No, wrong, denied. Whore or not, it was one thing to accept a monstrosity in a child. It was quite another to let it _bed_ you.

I sat back in my room, clutching at the sides of my coffin, smirking loathingly at my own lack of self-control. I would not leave the sanctuary of my room again until they woke. That way their annoyances could distract my desire.

In the corner of the room I spied the shattered vial of Kise.

_Idiot._

I did not bother arguing with myself, not when I was right.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

I walked down the long, fine de Chagny steps as carefully as I could; trying to avoid dropping any of the suits I had been asked to throw out, which was quite a task considering the stack of suits blocked my vision. I reached the bottom of the steps finally, putting down the suits long enough to wipe my forehead.

I knew my mother and Misty had no choice. And the truth was; I didn't mind the de Chagny manor at all! Christine had been very kind to me. The only time ever worked was when the other servants were looking, to avoid suspicion.

Speaking of the servants, a huddle of them caught my eyes. I went over to the group to see what was the matter.

"_He's_ coming!" One of the maids exclaimed excitedly. I began to ask _who_, when the servant ladies began inexplicably chanting.

"_We… want… Philippe._" I stared incredulously as they began swaying in time to their chants. "_Where… is… Philippe? __Give… us… Philippe_. _We… want… Philippe._ _Phil—I—double P—E. We're all his."_

"What's going on?" I tried tapping one of the maids, but she was too enraptured in her chanting to pay me any mind. Plus, they started posing with every syllable.

"_He's our kind of a guy. And, ooh, what luck! Cause here he is_…" They all pointed to the top of the staircase; where the butler, Barbaduo, stood.

In a booming voice, Barbaduo announced: "Ladies and gentlemen! Presenting the golden haired Viscount of the manor! The one… the only… Philippe de Chagny!"

A drum roll sounded out of nowhere, hitting a climax and crashing as Philippe emerged from his bedroom, dressed in a top hat and holding a cane; both which were much too large for him. Smiling and skipping down the steps, Philippe began to sing.

"_I don't care about expensive things. Cashmere coats, or diamond rings. Don't mean a thing. All I care about is me._"

_"That's what he's here for!"_ The maids answered ecstatically.

"_I don't care for wearing silk cravats. Ruby studs, satin spats. Don't mean a thing." _Philippe bounced off the final step as he finished the line, twirling his cane._ "All I care about is me._"

"_All he cares about is me!"_ The maids began pushing each other, each trying to gain Philippe's eye.

Philippe just ate up the attention, twirling the cane and sauntering about the foyer. He stopped to look at a mirror, admiring himself as he continued. _"Give me two. Eyes of blue. Softly saying…"_

_"I need you."_ The maids chimed, standing behind Philippe in the mirror.

_"Let me see me standing there. And,"_ Philippe spun around, shaking a fist at the ceiling in mock passion, _"honest, mister, I'm a millionaire!"_ He continued sauntering about, showing off his fine clothing, even as he sang about how unimportant it all was to him. _"I don't care for any fine attire. Gabberdoosh might admire. No, not at all. All I care about is me..."_

_"All he cares about is me!"_ The maids screeched, forming a line behind Philippe and following his every step.

Philippe continued promenading around the manor, the line of maids fawning after him following him like ducklings. He whistled now, thinking himself charming. I just sat on the armrest of the settee, patiently waiting for the insanity to die down.

_"That's what he's here for!"_ the maids exclaimed as they passed me.

I rolled my eyes, folding my hands neatly in my lap, trying to remain somewhat amused and not irritated.

Seeing my gesture, the maids retorted with _"All he cares about is me!"_

Philippe began marching my way. Thinking quickly, I moved in front of another mirror. Just when Philippe approached me, I yanked off his hat and ran aside. As I had hoped, Philippe forgot me and began to admire himself again, stroking his own hair.

_"Show me long golden hair. Flowing down, about to there." _He gestured his own hair length. _"When I see me. Running free. Keep your money, that's enough for me!"_

Philippe turned to me again. I made to run for it, but he was too quick this time. He snatched his hat from my hands, placed it on _my_ head, then took my hands and began to swing me around, dancing.

_"I don't care for riding purebred mares. Or sampling the finest, exotic pears. No, not at all. All I care about is,"_ He released me, bounding up the stairs, stepping harder at the end of each phrase for emphasis. _"Looking naturally good. Just the way that I am. From the tip of my hair. To my toes, to my hands."_

Philippe stood at the threshold to his room. He turned back to the maids, giving a large flourish of his arm as he belted, the maids joining him._ "All I/he care/cares about… is… me!"_

Barbaduo slammed the door shut. The maids all pouted.

I took the oversized top hat from my head, holding it in my hands in a most confused manner. "O…kay." I said, walking over to the disappointed servants. "Does this happen a lot around here?" A maid snatched the hat from me. I recognized her; Crosianta.

"Yes, as a matter a fact it does!" She said elatedly, placing the top hat on her head. "Ever since Philippe came around!" She paused. "And… _the other one_ left." She added with disgust.

I gulped, having a bad feeling about all this. "What other one?"

Crosianta growled as five other servants came to stand beside her in a line. "That little beast. But we took care of him, we did!"

I prayed they didn't mean little Erik. "What did you do?"

Big mistake. Music began rising quietly. The manor suddenly became pitch black, which was strange since it was still morning.

A chair seemed to have materialized before me. I sat down, dreading I would have to sit though another musical number. "Two in one chapter? Just my luck…" I muttered.

Disembodied voices began echoing in the manor. I would have been frightened, had I not been so annoyed.

"Laugh…"

"Spill…"

"Shine…"

"Not me…"

"Stella…"

"Abandoned…"

In the center of the room a spotlight shined. There stood Barbaduo again. In a quieter, creepier voice he announced, "And now, the six sassy servants of the de Chagny manor, in their rendition of; the Mask Face Tango."

The spotlight spread behind him, where six servants stood, back to me. Then, as they spoke their lines they each turned to me furiously. I recognized them immediately.

"Laugh!" Crembruleya

"Spill!" Vino.

"Shine!" Fromage.

"Not me!" Alamoda.

"Stella!" Crosianta.

"Abandoned!" Meringue.

They all began to tap their feet impatiently, chorusing. _"He had it coming. He had it coming. He only had himself to blame. If you'd have been there. If you'd have seen it…"_

Crosianta rose above the others. _"I betcha you would have done the same!"_

Crembruleya came forward, stood center, right before me. She began explaining herself. "You know how people have these little habits that get you down? Like Mask face. Mask face liked to laugh. No, not laugh. CACKLE. So one night, we're all trying to sleep after a hard day's work. And in the middle of the friggin' night, Mask face starts laughing maniacally! No, not laughing… cackling! So, I marched up to his room and said, 'You laugh like that one more time...' and he did. So I took my belt off and snapped a couple warning slaps... right on his butt!"

I gasped, bringing my hands to my mouth. Poor, little Erik!

She rejoined the others, who resumed their irritated foot tapping_. "He had it coming. He had it coming. He only had himself to blame. If you'd have been there. If you'd have heard it. I betcha you would. Have done the same!"_

Vino, the cook, stepped forward. He held a wooden spoon up angrily as he told his tale. "I met Raoul de Chagny when he was a little boy. Always so well behaved, ate whatever you put in front of him, politely. So when he hired me to cook for his son, I was delighted! All was fine at first. The boy stayed in his room most of the time, only coming out to eat. But one day Mask face comes down to the kitchen while I'm cooking and starts tugging on my apron, causing me to spill the stew I was preparing all over the place, while demanding that I never use broccoli in his dishes and insulting my food! I couldn't believe it! How dare he insult _my_ fine cuisine! So that night, at dinner, I fixed him a broccoli-free meal, like he asked. You know, some children just can't hold their ipecac!"

It took me a while to understand. He had purposely put syrup of ipecac in little Erik's food, _to make him sick_? How horrible!

Vino rejoined the others, nodding victoriously. _"He had it coming. He had it coming. He took us servants in our prime. And then he used us. And he abused us. It was punishment. But not a crime!"_

Now Fromage came forward. She was a very _different_ looking person, to put it politely. Not very easy on the eyes. She held up a hand held mirror, showing how it shined in the light. "Now, Madame de Chagny asks me to bathe Mask face because no-one else will. So I start the running water, minding my own business, when he suddenly bursts in, pushing me head first into the water, and calling me ugly! He was crazy. He said he didn't want anyone but his mother to bathe him and he kept screaming 'You're ugly!' Then I ripped off his mask and shoved his face in the mirror so he could see who was _really_ ugly. _He_ was really ugly, that's who."

The insensitivity of it all! How could anyone mistreat an insecure child in such a way? He had just been afraid.

Fromage returned to the line, winking back at me evilly_. "If you'd have been there. If you'd have seen it. I betcha you would have done the same!"_

Alamoda came forward nervously, picking at her fingernails, her eyes downcast. Fearfully, she began. "No one was sure quite what had happened. But one of the de Chagny pistols, which I had been cleaning earlier, was broken. Little Erik was blamed immediately. He insisted to his parents that it hadn't been him. That I must have done it while I was cleaning the pistols, trying to frame him…"

I stood, aware that she had been the only one to use Little Erik's name. "Yes, but did you do it?"

Alamoda shook her head tearfully. "No. Not me!"

The other servants whispered and hummed softly as she slunk back in line, her head hung and her eyes shedding rivers. I sat back down, relieved.

Crosianta came forward then, striding confidently. She stood before me, hands on her hips, as she related her memories. "I heard Mask face was having his forth birthday party. His parents wanted it to be an exclusive party, so they made specific invitations and mailed them out. But during it all I overheard that little brat asking that the servants be dismissed, that he didn't want us here! So, the morning of his party, as I was out picking up a few last minute things; I happened to accidentally mention the party to that pink bow girl, Stella, he hates so much. I didn't think she'd care. It wasn't until later, when she showed up at the party, that I even knew what I had done."

The line came forward to meet Crosianta, echoing her next lines. _"He had it coming! He had it coming! He had it coming all along! I didn't do it! But if I'd done it! How could you tell me that I was wrong?"  
_

The line backed away again, but for one maid. Meringue was relatively new, the only servant as young as Alamoda. She sighed as she related her story. "I thought little Mask face was the most brilliant child I had ever met. At first I admit I admired the little beast. Until he started throwing his voice all over the place and scaring me when I least expected it. He thought it was hilarious to see me suffer like that. So when his parents left him to be babysat by that Giry girl, I told him that they had abandoned him. I told him they weren't comeing back for him. I bet he didn't like having the joke on him."

She backed away into the line, and a moment later they all rushed forward at me, demanding my sympathy.

_"That damn Mask face! That damn Mask face! He had it coming! He had it coming! He had it coming all along! 'Cause if he used us. And he abused us! How could you tell us that we were wrong?"_

I stood to object, outraged by they kept coming at me, forcing me backwards_. "He had it coming! He had it coming! He only had himself to blame! If you'd have been there. If you'd have seen it! I betcha you would have done the same!"  
_

The lights came back on suddenly, the room returning to normal. Raoul came down then, looking extremely perplexed. "What are you all doing?" He asked, his expression priceless.

The servants scattered, grumbling to themselves. "Laugh, spill, shine, not me, Stella, abandoned…."

Raoul came over to me, completely baffled.

"Don't ask." I sighed. "Believe me, don't. You might start up another musical number." Raoul scratched his head, but gave up.

"Winanona…" He said, "Forgive me for having you work like this. You are a guest in this house, after all."

"No, not at all monsieur de Chagny! You are too kind to house me like this!" I turned to pick up the suits, remembering I had dropped them. I prepared to take them outside, but Raoul took them from me.

"Allow me." He sighed, looking quite troubled. I walked with him outside. "I'm grateful, Ann." He said, seeming very tired. "Grateful to have you here. At least I have _someone_ sane to speak to."

Raoul sat at the steps of his manor, looking as depressed as teenager having just been rejected by his valentine. "Is something bothering you, monsieur?" I asked politely, sitting beside him.

"Well, yes and no. I just don't know how to take all this." He leaned back against the steps. What a different man he had become! Before he probably would have strolled down the staircase _with_ Philippe! "I mean, I suppose I should be glad. But seeing myself trying to continue the life of a fool, I just don't know what to do. I try, but I end up bewildered by my own stupidity!" I frowned.

"Monsieur, I can imagine it must not be easy for you." I smiled at him encouragingly. "But you've been given a gift! And you should use it! If not to sort out your own life, then to help your son sort out his."

Raoul gave me an apprehensive look. "Philippe? No, I think he enjoys living as a… a… what's the word?"

"Fop." I supplied. Raoul nodded weakly.

"Not to say I don't love my son. I do, very much so! I just… can't talk to him." he slumped back in resignation. "Or to my wife."

"Monsieur…" But as sympathetic as I was to his troubles, I knew this crisis of self could be useful! "I know you love your wife and Philippe very much. They know it too. There's no reason to fret. And as far as helping your son, I was not referring to Philippe."

Raoul did not move for a moment. Then he suddenly sat up straight, gripping the beneath him. "Of course! I have another son! Little Erik!" He stood, slapping his own forehead. "How could I have forgotten? Curse my former foppy mind!" He stopped, turning to me desperately. "He's down there with the Phantom, isn't he? What do I do?"

"Go to him." I said simply.

"But what do I say? Both Eriks must _despise_ me!"

"While I cannot speak for Erik the former Phantom," I said, standing and dusting off my skirts, "I can assure you that little Erik does not despise you. And you've changed. He will see. He's a smart boy."

Raoul nodded o himself, thinking. "Yes, yes I must go see him. I have to make sure he is alright. Even if he isn't my son by blood. I still raised him!"

"Mhm, mhm, yes." I reached into my pocket, pulling out a crumpled flyer. "Here, you can use this." For a second I worried Raoul would not understand my meaning. But he had changed much.

"Brilliant!" Raoul said, folding up the flyer and tucking it away safely. "This will also help me with Philippe and Christine! And you'll get to see little Erik again!"

"Everyone wins!" I said happily.

"Excellent. I should be off then." He started off, stopping and turning back to me one last time. "Thank you Mademoiselle. You are wise beyond your years! If there is anything I cold ever do for you, anything at all…"

"Hmm…" I thought for a moment before coming to my conclusion. "Punish those servants." I stated, arms crossed. "Except Alamoda. She deserves a raise."

He looked at me quizzically but, wisely, decided not to ask. Three musical numbers in one chapter is a bit much, after all.

"Very well then. I'm off!" And he hurried to his carriage.

I watched Raoul de Chagny speed away. Perhaps everything would be alright after all.

"Laugh!"

"Spill!"

"Shine!"

"Not me!"

"Stella!"

"Abandoned!"

I scoffed and opened the door. "Get back to work!" I shouted, slamming the door behind me as I came inside.

"Aww, you're no fun!" Barbaduo said, disappointedly dropping his announcer's stance.

**Meanwhile, in an Indisclosed State...**

**Pleading Eyes: **(Sighs) All alone... no one to talk to.

**Crimson Fox: **(Sneaks up behind the Authoress and pelts her with water balloons) Ahahahaha! Man, I LOVE having a little sister around to pick on. Okay, going to work now. (Dashes off, giggling maniacally)

**Pleading Eyes: **(Grabs towel) Yep, no intelligent life around whatsoever.

(In the distance, the Authoress notices a plane coming down)

**Pleading Eyes: **Ooh, that sucks. I wonder what caused the plane to come down like that?

**Inside the Plummeting Plane...**

**Link: **(Head partially sticking out of suitcase) WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING TRYING TO PUNJAB HARU AND MAKING HIM GO BLACK?

**Erik: **HEY! I THOUGHT HE TOUCHED MY LEG! I FREAKED OUT!

**Haru: **(Throwing things, including the pilots around the plane) HARU... SMASH...!

**Link: **Yep, we're boned.

**Erik: **Cheese it! (Erik and Link run off,)

**Haru: **(Turns to readers) REVIEW OR HARU GET ANGRY!


	28. Episode 26

**Somewhere, In An Unlucky Airport**

**Haru: **Wow, we sure were lucky that Link can be used as a flotation device.

**Erik: **Well, at least he's finally useful.

**Haru: **And Erik, about earlier. I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable. You have nothing to worry about. I already have a significant other.

**Erik: **Alright then...

**(Awkward Pause)**

**Erik: **Out of curiosity. Is your _other _a man or a woman?

**Haru: **(Sticks his face right in front of Erik's) Do you really want to know?

**Erik: **YOU'RE IN MY PERSONAL BUBBLE! (Shoves Haru)

**Haru: **(Crashes into inconveniently placed girl, causing him to transform.) Moo...

**Erik: **O...kay...?

**Cow Haru: **Yes, I should have warned you. I come from a cursed family. When we're hugged by a member of the opposite sex we transform into the animals of the zodiac.

**Erik: **Well, at least you're not a fop... ... ... ARE YOU?

**Cow Haru: **No.

**Erik: **Good then. Now where's the fairy boy?

**Cow Haru: **He's probably somewhere around all that rescued luggage.

**Erik: **Oh no...

**Cow Haru: **What?

**Erik: **Look what's prowling around the luggage!

**(That's right. A bishonen's worst nightmare. Rabid fangirls! And these fangirls just happen to be wearing LEGEND OF ZELDA shirts.)**

**Cow Haru: **Crud.

**Random Fangirl: **AHH! Look what I found!

**Link: **(Groggy, head still sticking out of the suitcase) Whaa? Where am I? Whas goin on? Hey! Don't touch me there!

**Random Fangirls: **SQUEE!

**Cow Haru: **What do we do?

**Erik: **Now don't panic. I think I know just how to deal with rabid fangirls.

**(Montage of Haru and Erik getting drunk as hell)**

**Cow Haru: **Okay, that didn't change anything. Except now I'm a talking cow with a hangover.

**Erik: **Right. I forgot we were supposed to be rescuing Link. Well, I have another idea. (Whispers in Haru's ear)

**(Moments later, as the fangirls are poking and prodding Link with various objects, a beautiful voice begins to fill baggage claim.)**

**Erik: **_From that damn fairy boy, please step away. My power over you. Is stronger anyway..._

**Rabid Fangirls: **(Hypnotized)

**Link: **You did it, Erik! You have them under your control! You can make them do anything you want now!

**Cow Haru: **(Comes up behind fangirls and kicks them unconcious)

**Link: **...or have a weird punker cow with piercings knock them out.

**Cow Haru: **Yo.

**Link: **(Freaking out) Huh? It talks?

**Erik: **It's Haru. I accidentally turned him into a cow.

**Link: **Really? Geez, Erik! The ability to turn guys into barnyard animals and to hypnotize women with your voice? How could you _not _get laid?

**Cow Haru: **Link, I don't see you getting any action either.

**Link: **Yeah, but that's _my _choice! EVERY girl in Hyrule's thrown herself at me at least twice!

**Erik: **Every man in Hyrule too.

**Link: **(Glares) Let's just go. (Bounces off)

**Erik: **... (snickers)

**Cow Haru: **What?

**Erik: **It's nothing, I just... (laughs)

**Cow Haru: **What? What is it?

**Erik: **I can't help it! I have to do it! (Pets Haru) That'll do, Bessie. That'll do.

**Cow Haru:** Wow Erik, stroking my back? I thought you didn't swing that way.

**Erik: **(Pulls back his hand with a jump) E-ee! (Stomps after Link)

**Cow Haru: **Moo... (Goes along)**  
**

**Episode 26**

I grabbed the edge of the counter to steady myself. His attacks were too much. I couldn't stay standing. I clutched my ribcage in pain as my body continued to convulse. I looked back at him, at his masked visage, regretting it immediately as my hand slipped from the counter; causing me to fall to the floor. I couldn't breathe.

He was just too funny.

"You… have… to… be… making… this… up…" I said between fits of laughter.

"No!" Little Erik exclaimed, rolling on the floor in laughter as well. "He _actually_ thought that jars had kidnapped me!"

I continued to laugh, gasping for air. My sides ached and tears were blinding me. How could anyone be that _stupid_?

I worked to steady my breathing, hoisting myself up into a sitting position. "Okay, okay. I've got one." I sighed, trying to sober enough to relate my story. "Okay, so. When we were growing up, your mother and I spent a lot of time together. We were practically like sisters! Anyway, this one time monsieur Reyer was conducting _The Marriage of Figaro_. So I said to Christine…" I stopped, exploding into uncontrollable laughter.

"What? What'd you say?" Little Erik demanded, still settling from his last fit.

I took a deep breath, sobering. "Alright. I said, 'That music is from _Don Giovanni._' And Christine says, 'From the opera?' and I replied, 'No Christine, from the book.'" I took a shuddering breath to recover. "And she answered, 'Oh, that's nice.'"

Little Erik and I both dissolved into cackles of hilarity. "I get it! There is no music in a book!" he announced to himself, very much mirthful. "And _The Marriage of Figaro_ isn't from _Don Giovanni_!"

I stilled. "It isn't?"

Little Erik paused. "Um, I don't… think so?"

And we both relapsed into hysterical guffaws.

The sound of a familiar certain someone clearing his throat brought me to my senses. I sobered immediately, even though it took little Erik a few seconds to follow suit.

Erik stood before us, arms crossed, expression irate. He obviously was not as amused as we were. "What… are you doing?" he said disgustedly, nudging at little Erik with his boot.

I stood, dusting my skirts, only to find them muddied. I then wiped my hand on my skirts, deciding that clean hands were more important than clean clothing. "I was making breakfast." I said cheerily. "Little Erik was just keeping me company."

"What can I say?" Little Erik said with an amused shrug, sitting up. "I'm just helpful like that."

"Indeed." Erik said, still irked by our joviality. We stood awkwardly for a moment, before I remembered what I was supposed to be doing and turned back to the counter. Erik exhaled sharply and began to storm out of the room, Little Erik catching his cape to stop him.

"Papa?" Little Erik asked in an endearing tone.

Erik scoffed in aggravation, whirling to face his son in annoyance. "What is it now?"

"I noticed you have a chess set. Do you play chess?" I leaned closer to the edge of the kitchen to spy on the scene from over my shoulder. I pretended to be drying a plate with a rag.

Erik snatched his cape from his son's grip, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Don't you start _that_ again! We are _not_ playing anymore games to determine the rules of _my_ home. This is still _my_ lair and the only one to decide _anything_ here; will be _me_."

Little Erik shook his head, standing. "No. Just for fun! I was playing with Meg earlier, but I kept winning." He whined, my incompetence as a chess player frustrating him. "I need a challenge!"

I could not see Erik's reaction clearly from where I stood spying, but after a stillness, both Eriks walked over to the sitting room. The plate and rag still in hand, as I continued to unconsciously dry the plate, I hurried to stand just outside the sitting room to peer in.

Little Erik was positively thrilled, standing on the edge of his seat with his eyes wide and bright. Erik, to the contrary, was leaning back, his right leg crossed over his left knee, his expression uninterested and slightly nagged.

Little Erik focused over the pieces, several times moving his hand over one piece, only to pull it back and start hovering over a different piece. Eventually, however, he made his move. Proud, he looked up at his papa, excited for the long and grueling match ahead.

Erik did not bat an eyelash, though long a thick his eyelashes were… Erm—but I wasn't thinking about that! No, instead Erik simply stretched out his hand and moved the pawn in front of his king forward a square. Then, taking back his hand and folding it neatly in his lap with its pair, he sighed.

Little Erik licked his lips in anticipation. He was so happy! I smiled; glad to see the two finally sharing a father-son-moment, even if Erik's heart was not quite in it.

The little one made his move, his hand clenching into a little fist excitedly. Erik only sighed again, barely reaching forward to move a bishop three squares diagonally. He refolded his hands neatly in his lap, those large powerful hands of his, still as unamused as before.

I wondered for a moment if Erik was even trying. Then again, it didn't really matter. Little Erik moved next, I couldn't quite see any of his moves from my vantage point. There was a coffee table obscuring my view.

Erik moved his queen this time, diagonally two squares. As his hand returned to his lap, he stifled a yawn. _What a sport_, I thought sarcastically.

By now Little Erik looked quite troubled. He was biting his bottom lip quite harshly. It took him a long while to decide on which piece to move. Finally he settled on one, looking relieved.

But it was in vain. Erik moved his queen forward, I could not see how far up as he entered the section of the board blocked out of my sight, and coolly stated "Checkmate." His uncovered side of his face betrayed not a hint of interest in his victory. That ironically beautiful half of his face... not that I was looking or anything.

Little Erik stood shocked silent. "B-but… _how_?" He put a small, gloved hand to his head, probably replaying the match in his mind's eye. "In only _four_ moves?"

"Consider it a mercy." Erik said gravely, standing to leave.

"What do you mean a _mercy_?" Little Erik jumped from his chair, grabbing and clinging to Erik's slacks. Erik inhaled sharply in surprise, only to grunt in irritation afterwards. "You _slaughtered_ me!"

Erik chuckled, but it was not a mirthful chuckle; rather it was a cold, mocking one. "Are you such a novice? I could have ended the game in less. Three… even two moves."

Little Erik's eyes widened in disbelief. "No… fopping… way."

"Yes." Erik said, a bit more amused now, and a bit less annoyed. "And watch your language." He added, shoeing Little Erik's hands off his slacks.

"Can you end it in one move?" Little Erik said, genuinely in awe.

"Why, as a matter a fact…" Erik began. Little Erik held his breath as Erik paused for suspenseful effect. "No, no you can't."

"Aww… No fair!" Little Erik protested, reaching up to take his papa's hand and trying to pull him back to the chess table. "C'mon! There has to be a way. You can tell me, really!"

Erik smirked, that intoxicating smug smile of his. He was up to something, I knew. "If you insist. Come, sit." Little Erik obeyed without question. "Alright, are you ready?" Little Erik nodded and made a move.

"Okay, go!" He was so ready to be astounded.

"Alright, it's like this," Erik placed his hands calmly under the table… and flipped it, causing the pieces to scatter.

Little Erik made a squeal of surprise and ducked to cover his head. I froze, had we angered him again? Would today turn into another disaster? How many more times could Erik threaten our lives like this before he finally just went through with it?

Then, a strange noise filled the lair. Little Erik looked up. I joined his gaze in rising to meet Erik. He was… laughing. Now, granted it was a sadistic laugh at having frightened his own son, but he seemed nonetheless quite pleased.

"Checkmate." Erik said, his mirth dissipating as abruptly as it had come. "Get up." He said harshly. Little Erik did so, seeming offended. "Now, if _Marguerite_," I squeaked at the mention of my name, "would go do less _prying_ and more _preparing, _I'd show you how to checkmate in two or three moves before we eat."

Had he seen me? No, he had to be bluffing!

"And Marguerite, I think that dish is quit dry by now," he added mockingly. Oh right, I was still running that rag in circles over the plate. I blushed and hurried back to the kitchen. Casting a final glance back, I saw Erik and Little Erik begin to reassemble the pieces on the board as Erik spoke strategies.

_At least he's trying_, I told myself. _Albeit in his own twisted way_.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

I waded through the underground lake, shedding layers of extra clothing as they soaked through and began to weigh me down. This was all quite familiar. Only last time, I hadn't really known what I was doing, only that I _had_ to rescue Christine from that monster.

And yes, I realize now that it is probably unfair of me to refer to him as a monster. But honestly! At the time I knew nothing about the Phantom other than the fact that he occasionally killed people, extorted the opera house, and—oh yes! That he had lied to, kidnapped, and was currently stalking my fiancée! And to this day I find it strange that I'm painted as a selfish fop, when it was Christine who had told me what a frightening monster the phantom was! Yes, she said he was pitiful, but she also just _happened_ to _conveniently_ leave out the juicy seduction parts of the story. Of course I didn't know Christine had any feelings for the Phantom other than fear and pity! I'm not a mind reader and I was even less of one then!

I sighed, shaking my head. There was no use in placing blame. In the end, there had been no remedy. We had all acted foolishly. Christine had unintentionally led the Phantom on. I had blindly and brashly charged in to be the hero, before I even knew what was going on. And the Phantom had murdered, threatened, set traps, deceived, extorted, kidnapped, stalked, and dropped a chandelier on an audience. And Meg, well, she had led the mob down to the lair. And that had really been _not cool_.

I suppose the only way for the disaster to have been avoided would have been for Christine to grow up and clearly choose one of us from the beginning, for me to come to terms with my own stupidity, and for the Phantom to get a job already! Oh, and probably for Meg not to have led the mob down to the Phantom's lair. 'Cause like I said, that was totally _not cool_.

But it's always so much easier to see the right path once everything is done and gone. The past cannot be changed. We would all just have to accept that.

Especially Meg. I mean, she friggin' _led_ the friggin' _bloodthirsty mob _right to the misunderstood mad genius' _only sanctuary_. That was so _not cool_.

I stopped as I reached a fork in the tunnels. I remembered this place. It had been where one of the many traps I had fallen into, yet somehow miraculously escaped, had been. Only one path was the safe one. But which one was it?

Before the fork there was a sign. I remembered this now! The sign read 'Safe path. Not a trap.' Of course! Last time I had trusted the sign, deciding that signs never lied. But I had been wrong, _oh so wrong_!

Rolling my eyes at the memory of my own foppiness, I continued down the path opposite the sign.

Of course, I could just have been walking into a bigger disaster. For I had no way of predicting how the Phantom would welcome me…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"Erik, you have a guest." I said plainly as I served breakfast.

"I know!" Erik called back to me in annoyance from the next room. "I heard the silent alarm." He quieted, than added as an afterthought, "Who is it?"

"It's—wait. How'd you hear a silent alarm?"

"Marguerite!"

"I mean, if you can hear it, then it's not really a silent alarm. Then again, if you can't hear an alarm, it isn't very useful, then is it?"

"Marguerite! Who's here?"

"Unless of course it's only silent to the person approaching. In which case, it would be more of an inconspicuous alarm, since it is only silent to one of the two parties involved. The first being the intruder; who can't hear the alarm, and the second being the home owner; who _can_ hear the alarm."

"Damn it, woman! Who's at the door? Or portcullis. Whatever."

"Hmm?" I peeked out of the kitchen to check the portcullis, a very wet and tired Viscount stumbling towards it. "Oh, it's just Raoul." I called back.

"Oh, okay." Erik replied, returning back to whatever he had been doing. "Wait, who?"

"Breakfast is ready!" I announced cheerily, now serving some tea to go with the meal.

"Father!" cried an ecstatic little Erik, rushing passed me and into the main room. "You're here!" He pulled the lever that opened the portcullis. The sopping Viscount stumbled in, making humorous squishing noises with each step.

"Little… Erik…" he said between gasps for air. Little Erik ran forward and seized the man in a warm… handshake?

"Yes father. I see. How have you been?" He sounded so formal all of a sudden. Bah! Aristocracy! Lame.

"Well." He coughed, spewing up water, seaweed, and a few pieces of old broken torture devices. "Just swell. You?"

"Papa's been teaching me about being an architect!" He brandished a cylinder of paper from seemingly nowhere. "See? Here are some blueprints we were drawing up together!" He unrolled the cylinder revealing, indeed, blueprints. I smiled at the thought of Erik trying to pass on his extensive knowledge. It must have been an adorable sight, the two of them scribbling like two toddlers with crayons and paper.

"That's… excellent." Raoul said, nodding in approval. "You've done well for yourself. You were always such a brilliant child."

Silence.

Those darn crickets were back, just to make matters more awkward.

"Um… father?" Little Erik chuckled nervously. "You mean you _know_? You've realized something about your surroundings not having to do with fashion or jars?"

Raoul gestured dismissively, setting aside the blueprints. "Now son, that jar joke is an old one. We've discarded it now. Also, I am no longer a fop."

I gasped, dropping the tea kettle, which shattered on the floor. Its pristine white shards slid across the damp, slippery rock floor, thankfully squishing many of those inconsiderate crickets.

"Say again?" Little Erik asked, probably thinking he had heard wrong.

Raoul cleared his throat and began to explain. "During your opera, which was very entertaining by the way," Little Erik blushed, "I sustained an injury to the head. I don't quite remember what caused it, the whole night is mostly a blur to me now, but I believe it had something to do with popcorn or angry old french chicks or something. Anyway, I was in a coma for a while, and long story short, when I awoke I was no longer a fop."

Little Erik stared at Raoul

I stared at Little Erik.

Raoul stared at Little Erik.

I stared at Raoul.

Little Erik stared at Raoul.

Raoul stared at me.

I stared at Little Erik.

Little Erik stared at me.

Raoul stared at Little Erik.

I stared at the half-crushed cricket by my feet, weakly crying "Kill… me…"

Erik appeared in the room and stomped down on the poor creature, putting it out of its misery. "Can I help you, monsieur Victome?"

Raoul stared at Erik.

"Huh? Oh, y-yes!" He stood, this time being clever enough to _actually_ put his hand at the level of his eyes. Why didn't anyone ever do that, anyway? "Monsieur, I've simply come to see if my son, and yourself, would join my family for an outing!" He reached into his pocket and retrieved a flyer that, miraculously, had barely been dampened.

Erik moved, graceful as a cat and quick as a blink, right before Raoul. Erik was taller, and a murderer, so he towered above the young Viscount menacingly. He snatched the flyer from Raoul's hand, not even bothering to take a glance at it before he threw it to the floor.

"I believe, monsieur, that he is _my_ son. And as I remember, neither you nor your _family,_" he spat the word disgustedly, "is welcome in my home. And do not be so naïve as to think that Giry's credulous warning," he seized Raoul's wrist, wrenching it away from over his eyes, "is going to offer you any protection."

"Monsieur!" Raoul protested weakly, pitifully trying to puff up his chest bravely. "I am not here to start a confrontation. I only meant to bring some small bit of unity between our houses. For the sake of our boy."

"He is not _our_ boy!" Erik roared furiously, shoving Raoul to the floor.

"That's not what all the R/E slash fangirls think." The still-not-quite-dead-he's-getting-better-cricket said with a giggle. I snuffed it before it could spout anymore phan blasphemy.

"I gave you Christine! So then, why is it that you insist on coming to rob me further?" He advanced on the downed Raoul murderously.

"You didn't _give_ me Christine!" Raoul retorted, scampering backwards and to his feet. "She _chose_ me! She _loved_ me! It had nothing to do with you!"

"It had _everything_ to do with me!" Uh oh. Erik was heading for full-out rant and/or murder mode. Someone had to stop this before we ended up with a dead Viscount, a crazy Phantom, a traumatized child, and a stupefied blonde witness.

"Actually…" I interjected, stepping forward with trembling legs. "It had everything and nothing to do with you, Erik."

"That doesn't make any sense!" Raoul protested. "And furthermore—wait, Erik?"

"Yes, that's my name. I have one, like any human being." Erik threw back at Raoul, seething, before rounding on me. "And for once the brainless slave of fashion is right! How can it have both everything and nothing to do with me?"

"Um, the same way Little Lotte thought of everything and nothing?" I said with a shrug.

Both former Phantom and former fop paused to consider this. "Stupid metaphors." Raoul muttered.

For a moment, silence. I looked over at Little Erik who was holding that little thread noose of his anxiously. He apparently was terrified over what the outcome of this fight would be, not wanting to lose either one of his money providers—I mean fathers.

"A-and anyway," Raoul began again, distancing himself from Erik as he spoke, "it's not _my_ fault you can't move on. _I_ didn't make you an insane killer who stalks little girls in their dressing rooms and tortures their boyfriends. It's a real turn-off, you know?"

Erik's visible eye twitched. You know, for not being a fop anymore, Raoul still could be pretty stupid. But I could understand his position too. Poor Raoul had been made out as a villain just as Erik had. The man just wanted to defend his honor. Even if yelling at the murderer whom you stole your wife from was not the best of ways to go about clearing your reputation.

Erik took slow, powerful steps towards Raoul. Every inch of his being seemed to be trembling in rage as he advanced. His right hand reached into his coat. Oh no, I knew what Erik was reaching for. He had _that_ look in his eyes. I had to think fast!

"Oh, you're so wrong Raoul!" I rushed forward, taking Erik's arm in my hands. I knew I wasn't anywhere near strong enough to hold him back, but maybe… "A sexy stalker with the voice of an angel who watches me from my bedroom as I undress, caressing me with those flaming eyes of his…" I looked up at Erik, trying my best to put on an expression that I _hoped _appeared wanting. It was actually easier than I thought, once Erik looked at me with a 'wtf' expression.

"Marguerite…" he growled in admonition. His voice made my knees go weak, which was good for the ruse I was trying to pull.

"We've been together for a while now." I said, turning to Raoul so he could see my blush. "In secret, because a forbidden affair just makes it all the more…" I ran a hand down my own throat, "enticing…" I could practically hear Erik fuming beside me. He was going to _kill_ me!

But then…Raoul blinked incredulously. "No… fopping… way."

Erik's countenance changed immediately. He enveloped my waist with his powerful arms, slamming me back against his chest so hard that the air was knocked out of my lungs. "Is it so difficult to believe?" He snarled. I could imagine the bloodthirsty smirk he wore.

"But… he's a killer! I just don't get it!" Raoul wove his fingers through his hair, looking ready to pull it all out. "Why is he so much more alluring? I have a title! Why does Christine still get that faraway look when anyone mentions him? He's _evil_!"

"Evil is _sexy_." I meant to sound listless; instead my words were a moan.

"GAH!" Raoul screamed in frustration. "Intelligence is a curse! I understand just enough to be _baffled_ by the female mind! I wish I was still stupid enough to think I knew everything about women!"

"Or brilliant enough." I giggled, turning my head to look up at Erik and running one hand over the unmarred side of his face.

"Tch, whatev!" Raoul said in aggravation. "Come or don't come. Just let it be known, that _I_ was the one trying to be nice here! _I_ was the good guy!" He stormed away to the portcullis.

"Good is such a turn off" I whispered, though loud enough for Raoul to hear.

"I HATE YOU ALL!" Raoul shouted back at us, already wading through the lake. He probably had more to say, but by then all that echoed back were gurgles.

Even after Raoul and the sound of his anger coming up through the water had passed, I could not seem to pry myself from Erik. Even more interestingly, he made no move separate us either.

We just stood there, his arms tight around my waist, my hands caressing his face and his throat. Then, out of nowhere, he spun me around until I was facing him. I felt my face collide with his chest. I didn't think about it, I didn't dare to. I just looked up into his face…

…to find him laughing.

"Now _that_…" he chuckled, trying to contain himself, "…is humor."

I forced a laugh, the terrible leaden feeling of being lifted up, only to be dropped, filling my limbs. And dropped _hard _at that.

"My dear, you are an exceptional actress." He said, grabbing my shoulders and starring my right in the face, only to worsen the feeling. How could he not know? My insides felt shriveled and denied.

"Anything to help." I replied with a weak smile. It was no use, though. The smile fell before I could even finish my sentence. I couldn't look at him. I turned my head to the side, looking down at the floor. I felt Erik's grip on my shoulders loosen.

"Marguerite…" His tone surprised me. He sounded… apologetic? But why? He hadn't forced me into anything. The whole idea had been my own.

I looked back at him, even more surprised to find his expression gently curious.

"Why do you still blush?" I gazed into his eyes; those powerfully green orbs that flared gold. How could anyone ever look into such piercing eyes and not fall instantly under his spell?

I tried to speak, tried to reply, but no voice came. Instead I mouthed, "Don't you know?" Still, he seemed to understand, because at that moment his eyes blazed gold, more so that usual, and I felt his grip on my shoulders tighten.

I could feel the heat radiating from his body; the sliver of air between us not enough to keep him from scorching me. I couldn't help myself, standing so close to him, having him look at me, _really_ look at me, for the first time since we'd met. I felt my body move of its own accord; my feet instinctively standing en pointe as I drew close to him. My eyes slid closed, but I could feel his breath against my lips. He was only a breath away…

"Hey! A fair! Awesome!" Erik whirled around, releasing my shoulders too suddenly, causing me to fall to floor.

Ouch. I snapped my head up at the distraction, my stare shooting daggers. There stood little Erik, holding the flyer Raoul had brought.

"Papa, please! Can we go?"

Erik began to say something but was interrupted by screams coming from further down the catacombs. "DAMMIT! NOW I FELL INTO A TRAP TOO! LIFE SUCKS! LIFE SUCKS DUCKS!"

**Meanwhile, At An Unlucky Car Rental Place...**

**Erik: **What do you mean you don't rent cars out to fictional characters? This is an outrage!

**Car Rental Dude: **Sorry, man. But ever since that plane was brought down by a bipolar anime character and his two sidekicks, no method of travel is taking your type. No buses, no cars, no planes, trains, or automobiles.

**Link: **We're not Haru's sidekicks!

**(Everyone stares at Link)**

**Link: **I mean... that's what I'm sure those guys would say...

**CRD:** You're still not getting a car.

**Erik: **This is blatant discrimination!

**CRD: **Duh.

**Link: **Iits not like _we're_ those three handsome fictional characters that brought down the plane!

**CRD: **Okay...**  
**

**Cow Haru: **C'mon guys. Let's just go hotwire one of their cars and jack it.

**CRD: **I'm right here, you know. I can hear you.

**Cow Haru: **...so? You're a state employee.

**CRD: **Good point. (Slouches back)

**(And so Erik, Link, and Haru set off to hotwire and steal a rental car. Between Erik's genius, Link's magic, and Haru's bipolar tendencies, the three of them managed to get the car started. There was just one problem...)**

**Cow Haru: **So who's driving?

**Erik and Link:** ...

**Erik: **Don't look at me! Cars haven't been invented yet where I come from. Plus I get road rage.

**Link: **No cars from my world either. Also I'm KINDA STILL STUCK IN THIS SUITCASE!

**Cow Haru: **Then who do you expect to drive this thing?

**Erik and Link: **...

**Cow Haru: **Damn it. Fine. Get in. I'll drive.

Dun dun duuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuun.


	29. Episode 27

**Somewhere, In An Undisclosed Location...**

**Pleading Eyes: **(Sighs)

**Crimon Fox: **(Pops head into room) Whoa. Check it out. Over 1000 hits on your new chapter!

**Pleading Eyes: **Yeah. But only 2 reviews. I don't understand! What am I doing wrong?

**Crimson Fox: **Maybe your chapter sucks?

**Pleading Eyes: **Maybe... Wait. YOU'RE NOT ALLOWED TO LOOK AT MY WRITING! GET OUT!

**Crimson Fox: **...dont wanna.

**Pleading Eyes: **Grr, fine! I wish Erik was here. He'd know what to do. Or even Link. He wouldn't know what to do, but he'd have something adorably blond to say. Or Haru...

**Crimson Fox: **Yeah, yeah. Enough with setting up the scene change already!

**Elsewhere to Somewhere, On An Undisclosed Road ...**

**Cow Haru: **What is he doing back there?

**Link: **(Yep, still trapped in the suitcase. But he's riding shotgun!) Probably building himself another evil lair. He does that.

**Erik: **(In the back seat. He has draped the entire back of the car with black curtains.) Bwahahaha!

**Cow Haru: **(Swerves) Sorry. It's hard to keep a grip on the steering wheel with hooves.

**Erik: **(Pops out of the curtains, torture equipment stuck to him) You made me spill my glue! Now my torture devices are sticking on me! Eww. It's messy!

**Link: **(Trying to be helpful) Look on the bright side, Erik! It's not like they can make you uglier!

**Erik: **That's it. Punjab! Wait, where's my lasso? (Checks himself. It's glued to his back, just out of reach) Noooooo!

**Cow Haru:** (Swerves) Aw dammit. That last swerve got the cops on us!

**Erik: **Punch the gas!

**Link: **No! You should cooperate with the law!

**Cow Haru: **(Poofs)

**Link: **...or you could do that.

**Erik: **I hate you guys... so much.

**(The poof clears. Haru is back to his human form, but now he's naked!)**

**Haru: **Hmm. In retrospect, I should've brought my clothes with me. Ah well. (Pulls over) Let me handle this. I'm not a psychotic murderer or an idiot.

**Link: **(Points at Erik) Ha-ha! He called you psychotic! ...wait.

**Erik: **I was going to insult you, but you did it for me.

**Cop: **What seems to be the problem--holy bajeebus! What's going on here?

**Haru: **Uh... nothing?

**Cop: **Wait a minute! I see what's going on! Three guys, coming from the direction of the undisclosed airport, where three fictional characters brought down a plane, then stole a car! One of you three nude and pierced, the other one bound against his will in a case, and the third one covered in torture devices? You guys are heading for the S&M convention, aren't you?

**Haru: **...sure. We'll go with the less incriminating assumption.

**Link: **S&M? Is that like M&Ms?

**Erik: **(sniffles) Everytime he talks, I miss my punjab lasso.

**Cop: **Well, just head down this road here. You'll come across a split. Go right for the S&M convention. But please, for the love of all that is good in this world, avoid the left! There's another convention going on that way. A terrible, evil convention.

**Haru: **Huh. Okay. Thanks crazy weird guy employed by the district. Have a nice day! (Drives off)

**Cop: **Aw, what nice perverts.

**Episode 27**

Erik stared us down gravely. He was obviously not happy with the situation, but he was controlling himself. Maybe he could be taught to be civilized after all.

"Oh, please papa! I've never been to a fair before!" Erik crossed the room in only three languid strides. His legs were so long and powerful… um, like a spider's I mean. Totally not sexy or anything. Ahem.

"Absolutely not." Erik snatched the flyer from his son's hands, not even giving it a look before tucking it away in the folds of his dress shirt.

"Why not?" Little Erik protested, stomping his little foot. "Maman's obviously going! That means Philippe is going too! How come my brother gets to go?"

"Because your brother does not have this!" Erik hissed, tapping little Erik's mask. "And, contrary to what Marguerite would have you believe, one's face _does_ make a difference!"

Little Erik's wide eyes filled with tears. He tried to hold them, I could tell, but he couldn't. Not with his curse shoved before him so blatantly. The tears spilled forth, trickling down his cheek and the mask.

"It's not fair." He sniffled, eyes downcast. "I didn't ask to be deformed. I didn't do anything to deserve it. All I ever did was be born, and I never even asked for _that_." He ran passed Erik, passed me. I tried to reach out to him; to comfort him, but little Erik brushed me away, running into his room and slamming the door behind him. He didn't want my comfort, not when it all boiled down to lies. I could tell him that he was beautiful, that his face did not matter, but they were lies.

As much as I hated to admit it, as unfair as it was, a face did matter. I turned to Erik, furious, only to see his head hanging in defeat. My anger evaporated instantly. It was unfair. Erik could not control his face anymore than little Erik could. He wasn't trying to be cruel. Life was cruel.

"Erik…" I murmured, approaching him tentatively. I expected him to round on me, to yell, to blame me in some way, to throw a terrifying tantrum. But he didn't. He just stood there, head hung, looking every bit like a shadow that had somehow managed to develop emotions and was currently experiencing misery. I placed a cautious hand on his shoulder, lightly. He made no move to push me away. I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but he spoke first.

"I never asked to be born either." He said, strangely calm and matter-of-fact. "But I have earned my face. I have done terrible, indescribably gruesome things, and without reason." He shifted awkwardly, looking up at the ceiling. "But my worst sin of all; is passing on my curse to an innocent child."

A torrent of emotions washed over me. Poor, unhappy Erik. If it wasn't enough to live with his own pains and sorrow, he now felt the guilt for all of little Erik's. It was a burden I felt he did not deserve, despite what he had said about his past actions.

"Erik." I said softly, comfortingly, turning him gently to face me. "It isn't your fault." He did not look at me, but kept his vision averted, downward. "You did not ask for your disfiguration, and you most certainly never asked to have your child burdened with it." I cupped his good cheek in my hands tenderly, moving him to face me. His expression was blank, but his eyes, as always, held a building storm. "You are guilty of many things Erik, but not of cursing your son." I whispered, caressing the cheek I held. "You love that boy very much, however hard you tried not to."

He stared for a moment, digesting my words. Then, unexpectedly, he leaned his head forward to rest on my shoulder. That was all. He did not cry, he did not speak, he just lay there, as if exhausted. It was the second time that day I held him. But this time there was no fire, no burning, consuming need. Only tenderness and understanding. Perhaps that was all he needed. The rest would only complicate matters. Neither of us needed more complications.

Then, without warning, as strangely as he had come to rest on me, he straightened. Without a word he retreated to the sitting room, leaving me perplexed but oddly satisfied.

After a while, my mind ceased wandering and returned to me. That's right, little Erik. With a sudden clarity of mind I rushed over to the child's room, only to stop at the door to knock.

"Go away!" cried a little voice from inside.

"Little Erik," I said sweetly, lovingly. "Please. I know you're upset, but I just want to talk to you."

"I don't want to hear it!" Little Erik retorted through the door. "You'll just come in and take off my mask and _lie_ to me! You'll look me in the face, mustering all the sensitivity you can, and _lie_ to me!"

"I won't, little Erik." It wouldn't be easy. "I promise, I won't speak of it."

He sniffled, considering. The door came ajar. I pushed in. Little Erik sat on his bed, his back to me, holding his mask in his tiny gloved hands. His head hung, so like his father, giving the impression of complete misery.

"I'm sorry." I said as I approached him. It was all I could think to say.

"One time," he said suddenly, straightening as oddly as his Erik had, "Father wanted to take Maman and me to a fair. Maman wanted to go, but I was afraid. I used to be so afraid of leaving the house that I wouldn't even go to a fair. I wonder…" he trailed off, turning to check I was still there. His tear stained face stared at me curiously, I smiled back encouragingly. "I wonder if that was my only chance to go to a fair, ever." He shifted his seating to face me, but cast his vision back to the mask in his hands. "I lost my only chance."

"Oh, little Erik!" I sighed, sitting beside him. "Not at all! There will be other fairs, many of them in fact!" I tousled his hair playfully, watching a small smile creep to his lips, even as he fought it. "And besides, all hope's not lost yet!" I gave him a mischievous grin.

"What do you mean?" He stared up at me, eyes wide and hopeful. Ah, the resilience of youth!

"I _mean_, we can still go!" I whispered conspiratorially. "All we need is the flyer with the address and we can sneak outta this joint!"

"But how?" Little Erik replied, brightening at the idea. "Papa hid the flyer in his shirt pocket!"

I smiled to myself, feeling deliciously evil, even if my cause was a good one. "The ends justify the means, in this case anyway." I suppressed a chuckle as I gestured for him to stay hushed.

I left the room, feeling wonderfully wicked. It was only an excuse, and yet it was the only way to obtain the flyer! But I did so with such enjoyment. I had wanted to touch him for so long. Now I had an excuse. Besides, before I'd been so afraid he'd reject me. But after what had occurred before Raoul, I knew I at least had a chance.

I tip-toed into the sitting room, finding Erik starring blankly into the fire. He held a book in his hands but he did not even pretend to be reading.

"Erik?" I said warmly, approaching him boldly and taking his hands in mine, removing the book and tossing it aside. "Have you ever bee to a fair yourself?"

He gave me a befuddled look. My sudden shift in attitude must have been quite odd. I couldn't imagine how the wheels in his head were turning in response.

"I've been _too_ close to them, mademoiselle." He stated simply.

This was it. The first step is always the toughest. I sat on his lap, facing him, both my legs tucked to one side.

"They do have such merry things at fairs. Shows, candy, rides…"

"Freaks." Erik interjected, his voice pure ice.

"Why so cold, Erik?" I pouted. I could tell he was trying very hard to ignore our proximity. "Let me warm up those hands for you." I smiled, rubbing my hands over his.

I knew this wouldn't help Erik's opinion of me any. He already considered me a whore. But it wasn't like I was throwing myself at him either. I was just being friendly, so far.

"Marguerite." His tone was harsh, warning. He must've been so unused to human contact. Well, that would all change soon enough.

"I know you're only doing what you think is best." I prattled on. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Good then, I had the upper hand. "But sometimes children need a bit of freedom, so they can grow. And sunlight. They need sunlight too. Poor little Erik hasn't had even a hint of fresh air in so long."

"We're not going to the fair! I forbid—" He growled, but I leaned closer, causing him to break mid-sentence.

"Understood." I shrugged, crossing one leg over to his other side, leaving me straddling him. "_We_ won't go." I could feel his temperature rising steadily, especially below me. He was only a man, in the end.

This was it, do or die time. He had resisted, feigned unaffected. But now was the defining moment. Either he would push me away, or he would come undone. I could not be sent away, I could not fail. I released his hands, moving to slide my hands over his chest. He made to shove me, so I lunged forward and kissed his throat.

He froze. Silently I ran my lips down the strong column of his throat, my tongue flicking out every now and then. He hissed, but it was not an angry sound. He was mine. Now all I had to do was maintain him.

My fingers nimbly parted his dress shirt, it gave me no trouble. Meanwhile my lips continued to explore his throat, finding his pulse and sucking it gently.

"Marguerite." He rasped, his final protest before leaning back and taking hold of my waist. His fingers pressed into my sides, his hands almost large enough to completely envelop my waist. Such rough, powerful hands.

I slipped one hand inside his shirt, hesitating for a moment. An awful image had suddenly come to mind. Just how much of him was deformed?

But the sound of his labored, desperate breathing beneath me wiped away any doubt. I pressed my palm against his wide chest. Smooth, fevered skin stretched over hard muscle met my soft, delicate hand. I spread my hand over his skin, feeling around. He sucked in a sharp breath as I grazed a nipple. Only then did I realize he was trembling.

I had to stop this. I had to stop before I hurt him. Quickly I slipped my free hand into his coat, finding the concealed pocket and deftly removing the thin paper inside. I prayed that his eyes were shut as I pulled out my hand to tuck the flyer into my bodice.

Only then, as I pulled away just enough to conceal the flyer, did I look at his face. His eyes were shut tight, his mouth hung open in desperation for air, his expression pained yet wanting. Small beads of sweat had begun to form on his forehead. I wiped his forehead gingerly, his head unexpectedly nuzzling into my touch.

He was so beautiful.

"Erik." I whispered, holding his burning face in my cooling hands. "Look at me."

He took a moment, before shaking his head, only slightly.

"Erik." I repeated, still tender. "Open your eyes and look at me."

I could feel his reluctance, so thick around us I could cut it with a knife. But he could not deny me, not as I held him. Slowly he opened his eyes and looked at me.

"You are not alone." I don't know why I said it, really. It just seemed like the thing to say. Erik only stared back at me, stared through me, as if he expected me to vanish into smoke at any second.

His grip on my waist tightened, trying to keep me to him, not wanting the dream to end just yet. This had to stop. I had already gone too far.

I leaned forward and brushed my lips, ever so lightly, against his. Then I took his hands, pried them—with surprising ease considering his strength—off of me, and stood.

He continued to stare at me, even as I distanced myself from him a bit. His breathing was coming in gasps now. He looked like he was dying, but somehow as if he wanted to die.

With every step back I took, I felt as if his life was slipping away. I was killing him. I wanted to rush back, to crush myself to him. Instead I turned around and walked away.

I hurried into Little Erik's room, trying to banish my thoughts of what had just transpired and fill my head instead with what was about to happen.

"What's wrong?" Little Erik said, jumping off his bed and coming to me. "You're flushed."

"I'm fine." I said, taking a deep breath to calm myself. I reached into my bodice and brandished the flyer.

"You got it!" Little Erik beamed.

"Shh! Now, we have to hurry before your papa finds it missing!" I took his hand, pulling him out of the room and into the gondola.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

I sat, staring dumbly at the spot where she had vanished, my breathing barely beginning to slow. What had just happened?

A dream. Another vision. I must've taken some morphine sooner than I had planned. A drug-induced hallucination.

And yet it wasn't.

It couldn't have been. My morphine supplies were not spread out around me. And the hallucination had not been of Christine, which they always were.

Also my shirt was still open.

What had possessed her in that moment, I was certain I would never know. Even if I demanded an explanation from her now, I was fairly confidant that I would not understand. That woman bewildered me.

Marguerite Giry…

It took me a moment to realize I had murmured the name out loud.

Why?

I didn't know. But her name tasted sweet on my tongue.

Stars, her tongue! Those swollen lips! I brought a hand to my throat, tracing where she had kissed me.

Why?

_I don't know._

Did I care?

_Not really... Not right now._

No. I _would_ care. I would be downright insulted. But not yet. Not while the haze still lingered around my senses. Not while I could still smell her, still feel myself burning where her fingertips had brushed me.

My trousers suddenly felt all too confining.

_Not yet. Don't finish it, not yet._

"Christine…" I murmured, but the name felt bitter at the moment. "Meg..." I whispered, feeling my stomach reel at the mere mention of her.

I closed my eyes, leaning back in my seat as I replayed the entire ordeal in my head.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_"We're going on a trip! Splash, splash, splash!"_ Little Erik and I sang excitedly, once we were out of hearing range of course. _"Sailing makes me sick! Splash, splash, splash!"_

_"But we don't really care! Splash, splash, splash!" _I added.

"_'Cause we're going to a fair! Splash, Splash, Splash!"_ Little Erik replied.

We conceded to fits of giggles. It was such a rush! Defying the opera ghost! Going out to a fair where there would be candy and fun! I felt like a little girl again, sneaking around behind my Maman's back.

We docked the gondola and made our way through the tunnels. Then, we ran into trouble.

"Um, do you know the way back up?" Little Erik stared up at me.

"No. I only know the way down." I replied.

"But you've taken me back up before!"

"I know, but that was like a zillion episodes ago! I don't remember anymore!" I looked ahead at the foreboding darkness. So many tunnels, so many places we could end up, only one path leading to freedom. And the other paths…?

I rather not think about it.

"Okay, this can't be _that_ hard!" I said brightly. "After all, Raoul obviously made his way. And he's a total fop!"

"_Was_ a total fop." Little Erik corrected.

"You're not helping." I snapped, feeling extremely foolish.

"Well, I guess we could just wait around." Little Erik said hopefully. "Maybe we'll be greeted by a conveniently placed plot device."

"What're the chances of—"

"Are you two in need of assistance?" A cheery voice rang out behind me. I spun around. There stood Raoul.

"Father?" Little Erik stepped forward to make sure.

"Why, yes! And I can help you! I know the way out!" Raoul replied, all too cheerily.

"Um… if you know the way out…" I asked suspiciously, "why are you still here?"

"Truthfully?" Raoul's smile dropped. "Raoul is unwanted…"

"Ah, I see." I said, leaning towards little Erik. "Now he's referring to himself in third person." I whispered.

"Alright, don't dawdle. This way!" Raoul called back to us, already taking off down a tunnel.

I looked at Little Erik,

Little Erik looked at me.

We shrugged and proceeded to follow Raoul through the darkness.

An hour later we were still trudging through the damp corridors.

"Now, I'm sure it's this around way."

"What do you mean _around_?" Little Erik protested impatiently. "You said you knew the way!"

Raoul halted and turned around. "No need to get testy! I _did_ know the way! It's just the world looks so different now than when I was a fop."

"Ugh" I groaned in exasperation.

"No wait! I remember!" Raoul exclaimed suddenly. "Meg! Your exasperation just reminded me! It's this way!" He made a sharp turn and ran straight on towards a wall.

"This isn't going to be pretty." I said, nudging little Erik.

But to my amazement, Raoul did not crash. There was no wall. It was a trick of the shadows. "Come along then! You're wasting precious time!"

Raoul really wasn't a fop anymore.

We followed after him. Raoul whistled cheerily now, happy to have proven himself. In our boredom, the three of us began to play games.

"Is it an animal you're thinking of?" Little Erik asked.

"Yes." I answered.

"Alright then…" Raoul mulled over his question for a moment. "Is it bigger than a breadbox?"

"Actually it—wait, bigger than a what?" What was he talking about?

"A breadbox." He said. "You know, a breadbox."

"Nah-uh!" Little Erik retorted. "That's crazy talk. You must be crazy. There's no such thing as a breadbox!"

"Sure there is!" Raoul insisted. "It's a box that holds bread."

"Oh, now I'm onto your little game!" I said, catching on. "You're trying to confuse me, so you can bamboozle me into revealing the answer. Clever move, de Chagny. But not clever enough!"

"No, I'm serious!" Raoul just wouldn't give in. "There really is such thing as a breadbox!"

"Uh huh, sure." Little Erik chimed in. "I'm sure that magical Raoul foppy la-la land is crawling with wild breadboxes. I'm sure they run free in their natural habitat, living off the land, undisturbed by humans!"

"I'm not joking, and this isn't a useless convoluted scheme!" Raoul was adamant. "Little Erik, you've used one before! We have one at our house. Remember? You lived there?"

"…"

"…"

"…"

"…don't change the subject."

**Meanwhile, At The Prevously Mentioned Split On The Undisclosed Road**

**Haru: **(Turns left)

**Link: **Hey, I thought that guy told us to go right.

**Haru: **Yeah, but there's an S&M convention that way. And I seriously doubt there could be anything more disturbing than that around.

**(They drive up to a big sign that reads "Triple Threat! The Phantom of the Opera, Legend of Zelda, Fruits Basket Convention!)**

**Erik: **... what are the odds?

**Haru: **Oh no!

**Link: **I feel it too!

**Erik: **It cannot be!

**Haru, Link, Erik: **RABID FANGIRLS! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

**Dun dun duuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuunununununununuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuunnnnnnununun!**


	30. Episode 28

**We see and unnamed dirt road, where a disheveled trio are walking, looking quite disheartened. Link is finally out of the suitcase, but he sports many new scratches and bruises along with torn clothing. He also looks deeply disturbed and is lying on the floor, being dragged along by Erik. **

**Erik, our beloved Phantom, his mask askew, dragging Link by the ankle, also wears torn clothing along with scratches and bruises. His cape has been clean torn off, though the pieces of torture devices remain stuck to him, his expression is forlorn. **

**Haru is in the nude, except for Erik's tattered cape, which he wears wrapped around the waist. He is as scratched and bruised as the other two, but his expression is satisfied, dreamy even. And so the three tred on down the long and winding dirt path.**

**Haru: **Hey Erik, thanks for letting me borrow your cape.

**Erik: **(Looks at where Haru is wearing it) Ugh, you can keep it.

**Haru: **Really? Thanks, that's awfully generous.

**Erik: **It really isn't.

**Haru: **(Looks back at Link) Doesn't it hurt him to get dragged on a dirt road like that?

**Erik: **Hey! At least I'm not dragging him face down, like I was a few hours ago. What more do you want?

**Haru: **He needs to snap out of it already. It was only one kiss.

**Link: **(Eyes wild and empty. His sentences are fast and barely coherent) One kiss? ONE KISS? Haru shoved his tongue in my mouth! I'll never be the same!

**Haru: **Hey, it was the only way to get the fangirls off of us!

**Erik: **Except for the slash and yaoi fans. (Shudders) Luckily there were a lot less of them, easier escape.

**Haru: **Get over it already, Link! It was _acting_. Stop being so immature about it! How old are you anyway? 16? 17?

**Link: **Actually, I'm not even SURE! I've been thrown around in time so often, that I don't know how old I am! I don't even know in what order my life goes, or if I'm reincarnated, or if there are about, I don't know, nine different me's running around somwhere in split timelines! I mean, do you know HOW HARD it is for me to make sense of what I'm seeing when my life flashes before my eyes? And don't even get me started on the whole "cel-shaded" period of my life! What with the bright colors and disporportioned body parts... it was like the equivilant of video game puberty!

**Erik: **(Drops Link's ankle) Oh, don't you even complain! How awkward do you think MY adolecence was? Living in an opera house? Where scantily clad, well built, women ran around, jiggling everywhere! And I couldn't even show my face! I don't even want to think about it! (Covers his face in shame) The memories are flooding back!

**Haru: **Heh. I liked being a teenager. Hell, I'm still a teenager. I got a lot of action at an early age. And I still do!

**Erik and Link: **(Give Haru death glares)

**Haru: **Yep, good times. Goooood times...

**Link: **(Stands up and dusts himself off. Calms) Okay, I'm going to be okay. I just need to reassure myself. That's all. I'll be fine... (Lightbulb!) I've got it! (Digs through his tunic)

**Erik: **(Spacing out) And there was this one time, when these two girls were in the dressing room, and I just happened to be going by Bouquet's peeping hole, and they started helping each other undress... I'd never seen a woman's... _chest area_ before. I didn't know if there was something wrong with them or with me...

**Link: **(Pulls out Ocarina) I found it! (Plays a merry little tune)

**Zelda: **(Appears in a ball of mystical light) My, who has summond me?

**Link: **Hey, Zelly, babeh!

**Zelda: **Why, chosen hero. Why dost thou call upon the princess of destiny?

**Link: **Hey, Zel, you're pretty hot.

**Zelda: **Acknowledged. Continue.

**Link: **Well, as a total babe, you think I'm manly. Right?

**Zelda: **(Rolls eyes) Oh for the love of, I don't have time for this! I should be guarding the Sacred Realm!

**Link: **C'mon! Please? This is really important to me! Besides, its not like guarding the Sacred Realm is going to do any good. Anytime we seal Ganondorf away in there, he just gets out again anyway!

**Zelda: **Well, yes, but...

**Link: **And who has to re-seal him? Me. So please, just tell me the truth!

**Zelda: **(Blushes) Well, yes. I... I find you very appealing Link.

**Link: **I KNEW IT! How 'bout a kiss? For luck. And... erm... justice! You like justice, right?

**Zelda: **Oh, very well. I can't say no to you! (Kisses Link)

**Link: **Woo-hoo! I'm in business! I guess I should teleport you back home now.

**Zelda: **Indeed. But Link? While we're on the subject, I suppose I should confess. I love yo-(cut off)

**Link: **Yeah, yeah. See you back in Hyrule. (Teleports Zelda back with another miscellaneous magic object) So THERE! (Turns to Haru and Erik) See? Who's the man? Link's the man! That's who!

**Erik: **...

**Haru: **...

**Link: **What? What're you guys starring at me for?

**Erik: **(Trembling with rage) You mean to tell us... that you had the power to teleport ... the _entire _time?

**Link: **Huh? Oh yeah... I guess I did. Funny, how you have all these limitless magic objects and you never even think about them until someone brings them up! (Laughs)

**Haru: **(Going black) You... think... it's... funny?

**Link: **Well, sure! I mean, we just wasted all this time, energy, and out dignity for no reason! Haha. What a story this will make. Eh, guys? ...guys?

**Haru and Erik: **EVICERATE!

**Link: **Well, crud. (Ducks)

**Episode 28**

Have I ever mentioned how much it sucks to be me? Of course not, I used to love being me! Who wouldn't? I suppose the old saying is true then, ignorance is bliss.

CRASH!

Of course, my current company wasn't helping. "Meg! How many times do I have to tell you? Stop crashing into walls!"

"Bwahahaha!"

"And Little Erik! Stop laughing maniacally! It's throwing me off!" I wouldn't have been so bothered by it all, if this hadn't been the eleventh time I was asking!

"Well excuse me, Viscount!" Meg retorted. "But usually Erik brings a torch so I can see where I'm going!"

"Yeah!" Added Little Erik. "And usually he's the one doing all the creepy voices resounding in the catacombs! I just thought we needed a little more _atmosphere_."

That was all I could take. "FINE! We'll do it your way! Let's all just keep wandering around in these dark, unpleasant catacombs, I'll do all the work trying to get us out, while you two talk about how much better Erik is than me! Because, after all, he's the better musician, the genius, the sexy stalker, and apparently the better leader too!"

"Now you're getting it!" Little Erik said enthusiastically.

I stopped, turned to the side, and slammed my head against the wall.

"What are you doing?" Meg shrieked. "That's just crazy! Who do you think you are, Erik?" I groaned, wiping the grime off of my forehead while simultaneously rubbing the sore forming bump, and resumed leading.

My earlier statement about life absorbing waterfowls was correct. Life really did suck ducks.

So we continued to saunter about in the darkness. Meg still crashed into walls every few seconds. Little Erik still made disconcerting sounds and let them echo all around us. I kept walking. It couldn't be much further.

"Father?" Little Erik said.

"Eep!" Meg said, running into another wall.

"What now?" I groaned, fearing another rant about how much better the Phantom was than me.

"Um… thanks." I lifted my head, surprised. "For coming for me, I mean. I know you didn't have to. And you were probably happy with just Maman and Philippe. But thank you for coming for me anyway."

At last! Recognition! Oh, my son! I was about to turn to embrace him when…

"Look! A way out!" Little Erik exclaimed, running passed me.

"Hurray!" Meg cheered, going after little Erik, running into a few more walls on the way.

"Tch, blondes. And phantoms. It's like they all have attention span disorders." I grumbled, following after them.

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I waited outside the ruins of the old Opera House, where I had followed monsieur de Chagny. However, it had been a long time since he had gone in and I was beginning to worry something had happened to him.

"Look! A way out!" A familiar voice announced, coming up from a grate under the opera house.

"Hurray!" Echoed a female voice behind him. "Ouch! Who put these walls here?"

I gasped and tore away the grate, peering in elatedly. Two green-blue eyes stared back at me. "Little Erik…?" I breathed.

"Winanona?" He replied, clambering out of the darkness and into the street. "What're you doing out here?"

"Waiting for you!" I said, without thinking. "Um, that is, waiting for you so we can all go to the fair!" I covered quickly.

"Oh… good!" He smiled, turning to help someone else out of the grate. _The other woman… _I seethed, remembering the female voice. That is until she emerged. It was Meg Giry! I sighed, relieved.

"Ow…" she whined, rubbing her face. "That really hurt." She stood on the street, her eyes catching sight of me. "Ann!" She laughed. "It's been so long! Look at you! You're becoming a lovely young lady!"

I smiled. I had always liked Meg Giry. "Too long, Mademoiselle Giry! It is wonderful to see you."

She motioned to hug me, then, remembering her dirty and disheveled state, settled for just patting my head. "How have you been?"

"Just fine. And you?"

"Eh." Meg shrugged, picking clumps of filth out of her hair. "How do I always get so dirty in those catacombs?"

"Well, I've been great!" Little Erik said, inviting himself into the conversation. "I'm an architect in training now."

"That's fantastic!" I replied, genuinely happy for him. "As for me, I've…"

"Mhm. Hey, where's my father?" Little Erik inquired, looking around. I was left, mouth agape, mid-sentence, shocked by his interruption. Why was he being so indifferent towards me? I thought we had been friends…

It hurt. Watching him there, realizing he had barely greeted me, more out of surprise to see me than anything else. I bit my lip to prevent myself from saying anything.

Raoul de Chagny emerged from the darkness then, hands clawing at the outside world. "Freedom! At last!" He exaggerated, pulling himself out of the ground. "Now, let's get home, wash up, pick up the wife and son, and go to the fair already!" He said, his spirits seeming to rise. "Oh, Ann. When did you get here?"

I began to say something, but was once again cut off.

"Wow. I forgot what fresh air was like." Little Erik said. "So let's see Maman already! What's the hold up?"

I shook my head silently in response and we all made our way to the de Chagny manor.

Once we arrived; Meg, Little Erik, and monsieur de Chagny all freshened up. I sat on the staircase's bottom step, waiting, tracing my finger in a circle on the smooth, cold floor. _What did I do to make him hate me…?_

"Christine?" I could hear Raoul de Chagny upstairs, knocking on his bedroom door. "Come, dear. We're going to the fair."

"I'm not going!" came the muffled reply. "You're not the man I married!"

"Christine, please."

"No!" I could hear her crying; loud, exaggerated wails.

"But Lotte, we have company! And they came all this way…"

No reply but more wailing.

Meg, clad in a fresh clean dress, approached the door, gesturing at Raoul to let her help. "Christine? It's Meg. Please, open the door."

"C-c-crumpe-e-ets!" Christine continued to bawl.

Raoul sighed in defeat. "She's been this way for a while now. I don't know what to do…" He ran his hands over his face, breathing deeply.

As Meg and Raoul continued trying to coerce Christine out, Little Erik came to the bottom of the stairs and sat beside me, his face buried in his knees, his arms wrapped around his drawn-up legs.

"What's wrong?" I asked softly, strangely happy to see him in need of comfort.

"After all this time, I come all this way, and she won't even come out to see me." He said, lifting his head and resting his chin on his knees.

"I'm sure she doesn't mean to avoid you." He looked so tired. "Your mother's just always been the type to have trouble coping with change.

Little Erik nodded, but I knew he was unconvinced.

I tore me up to see him sad, even after he had hurt me. I wished at that moment for a miracle. Something to bring joy back into his heart, even if it meant he'd continue to spurn me.

Then… _he_ came down.

"Hey! My brother!" Philippe said, bouncing on his toes with excitement. "So you made it! Great!"

Little Erik buried his head right back into his knees. "Just what I need…" he muttered, words dripping with sarcasm.

"Aw, what's wrong?" Philippe said, skipping down the remaining steps and then squatting to face Little Erik.

"He just needs a moment, Philippe." I said, trying to politely send him away. But the foppy child could not take a hint!

He frowned, placing a hand on Little Erik's shoulder. Little Erik looked up at him, a 'you've got to be kidding' expression on his face.

Philippe cleared his throat, his expression uncharacteristically compassionate.

"_Right now you are down and out, and feeling really crappy…"_ He sang.

"I'll say." Little Erik replied, hanging his head.

_Not another musical number_, I thought. _Though, if it makes Little Erik feel better…_

"_And when I see how sad you are… it sort of makes me…"_ Philippe paused, as if dealing with a wave of emotions, _"happy…"_

"HAPPY?" Little Erik barked furiously, his head snapping up to glare at Philippe. But Philippe just stood up, looking jovial.

"_Sorry brother, human nature. Nothing I can do! It's schadenfreude! Making me feel glad that I'm not you!"_

"That's not very nice, Philippe!" I said indignantly, standing to poke him in the chest with accusation. But Philippe only shrugged.

"I didn't say it was nice." He giggled. "But everybody does it!" He turned, facing Crembruleya who was emerging from the kitchen, tray of glasses in hand. "_Have you ever laughed when Crembruleya falls, and drops a tray of glasses?"_ He sang, tripping Crembruleya, who fell over and, indeed, dropped and shattered the glasses.

"I… guess…" Little Erik said, completely bemused.

"_And isn't it fun to watch Fromage and Meringue, falling on their asses?"_ Philippe continued, going on to trip Fromage and Meringue as they rushed out to help Crembruleya.

"Sure…" Little Erik replied, a smile creeping onto his face.

Philippe picked up a bucket of water, walking out to the garden, where Vino was picking herbs for dinner. Little Erik and I followed, curiosity peaked. _"Don't you feel all warm and cozy, watching Vino out in the rain?"_ Philippe sang, splashing the water out over Vino, soaking him.

"You bet!" Little Erik exclaimed, a large grin plastered on his face.

"_That's schadenfreude!" _Philippe stated, turning back to us. _"People taking pleasure in your pain."_

"Schadenfreude?" I mused aloud. "Is that a German word?" I asked, curious.

"Yep." Little Erik explained. "It's German for 'happiness at the misfortune of others'."

"Hmm, so that's what it means." Philippe said thoughtfully. Little Erik and I stared at him in confusion. Wasn't he the one who had brought it up in the first place? We looked at each other, but shook our heads; deciding it wasn't worth trying to comprehend Philippe.

"YOU KIDS…!" Vino said, starting towards us furiously, dripping wet. Little Erik smirked mischievously, running inside to the kitchen; Philippe, Vino, and myself in tail.

"_Watching Vino stare as I, pour his fine wines down the sink!" _Little Erik sang, taking two bottles of fine wine and pouring them down, well, the sink. Vino screamed at the sight, but the three of us ran out of his reach and into the foyer. I stopped only to grab a vat of pink dye…

"_Or watching Barbaduo realize, that I just dyed his hair pink!"_ I laughed, pouring the dye over Barbaduo's head. Philippe and Little Erik laughed approvingly. The three of us then proceeded to dash up the stairs and hide behind Philippe's bedroom door, which faced the staircase.

Crossianta walked by, carrying towels. _"Being at the top of the stairs, when Crossianta passes by the door!" _Philippe giggled uncontrollably as he rammed himself against the door, hitting Crossianta and causing her to take a nasty spill down the stairs.

"_Schadenfreude!"_ We all sang, running out of the room to watch Crossianta finish falling.

"_Hold the rail, that's what it's there for!" _Little Erik shouted down at Crossianta, pointing at the stair handrail, as if she had fallen on her own.

The three of us dissolved into fits of laughter. Then Little Erik stood, his eyes alight, and hurried down the steps. We followed, our heads swimming with ideas.

"How about, _Meringue getting chased by bees_!" Little Erik said, pulling a beehive from a tree outside and flinging it at the maid.

"_Crembruleya on her knees!" _Philippe said, arms crossed smugly, watching the maid beg for mercy.

"_Waking Fromage from her nap!"_ I said, shoving a dozing Fromage off the sofa, flat on her face.

"_Pelting Vino with bottle caps!" _Philippe replied, uncapping many of Vino's own spices, only to throw the caps in his face.

"_Crossianta getting tackled!"_ I sang, jumping out of concealment and doing so.

"_Crembruleya getting shackled!"_ Little Erik cackled, restraining Crembruleya in one of his trap chairs.

"_Watching Barbaduo never reach…"_ Philippe began.

"…_the ending of his announcer's speech!" _Little Erik and I chimed in, locking Barbaduo in the cellar, just as he had been taking his announcer's stance. _"Schadenfreude! Schadenfreude!"_ We all sang in unison.

Little Erik suddenly grabbed my arm, pulling me aside. I blushed, nervous, though secretly glad for the attention, as he sang softly to me, _"The world needs people like you and me, who've been knocked around by fate."_

I smiled, replying, _"Because when people see us, they don't want to be us, and that makes them feel great!"_

"Sure!" Philippe called to us, sauntering over to where we stood. _"You provide a vital service to society!"_

"_You and me!" _Little Erik and I harmonized, back to back.

"_Schadenfreude!"_ The three of us.

"_Making the world a better place…!"_ Philippe.

"_Making the world a better place…!"_ Me.

"_Making the world a better place…!"_ Little Erik

"…_To be!" _We concluded.

"E—r—i—k…"

"A—n—n…"

"Phil—i—p—p—e!"

We froze in dynamic poses, breathing heavily from exertion, servants moaning in pain all around us.

"Philippe?" I panted. "Do you do this often?"

"When… I'm… bored." He answered between breaths.

"Then why don't they hate you?" It didn't make any sense…

"Because…" He flipped his hair pointedly, "who could hate all this?"

I turned to Little Erik, who rolled his eyes and shook his head. At least those terrible people had gotten what they deserved.

"Ahem?" Said a mousy voice behind us. The three of us turned, to see Alamoda standing there, looking terrified at the state of her fellow servants.

"We missed one"! Little Erik shouted, pointing at Alamoda threateningly. _"Schadenfreude!"_

"No, you fool!" I said, slamming my hand over his mouth. "She's the _good_ one."

"There's a good one?" Little Erik said, stopping to sneeze. "Sniff. Excuse me. But as I was saying, I didn't know there was a good one!"

"There is! Believe me! I overheard them when you were gone." I didn't explain the situation in detail because, one, there was no need. And two, because I'd rather forget the whole disturbing affair.

"Oh, fine." Little Erik surrendered, kicking at the floor as he approached a frightened Alamoda. "Alright then, you're free to go on as you were. You're safe."

"Th-thank you." Alamoda replied, quaking.

"Don't mention it, you're a good person." Little Erik shrugged, them stopped, his eyes turning fiery as he made a realization. "But you didn't say 'bless you' when I sneezed!" He proclaimed, reaching for his thread lasso.

"No! Don't!" I shouted as Philippe and I ran forward to restrain Little Erik.

Alamoda screamed in absolute terror and ran out of the room.

"I was only kidding!" Little Erik called after her. "Sheesh. Can't even take a joke…"

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

I had no idea what all that music coming from downstairs was about, but I wasn't really in the mood to find out. I knocked on the door for the eleventh time, pleading with Christine to come out. "Please, Christine. Little Erik and I came all this way…"

"I don't care! I'm not coming…" A pause. "Did you say Little Erik?"

"Yes!" Raoul sighed, exasperated. "We told you like a dozen times! Little Erik is downstairs waiting for you!"

Silence. Then suddenly the door burst open, slamming Raoul in the face in the process, and out came Christine; searching frantically.

I followed after her, down the stairs, until Christine stopped in her track. "My… son…" She murmured.

"Maman?" Little Erik turned from whatever game he, Ann, and Philippe had been playing to face Christine. Immediately his eyes lit up with that boundless love. "Maman!" He ran straight into Christine's outstretched arms, clutching her neck tightly.

Christine picked the boy up, crying out of mixed relief and joy. "Little Erik, my baby! You're alright! You're alright… I missed you so much."

"It's okay, Maman." Little Erik said sweetly, stroking his mother's long, dark curls. "I'm here now."

It was a beautiful, touching reunion. So sweet and sentimental was it, that I'd rather not say another word about it. So, I won't!

Instead, let's fast forward to the fair. Ready?

Vwoosh! We're there!

"Wow…" Little Erik said, eyes wide in anticipation as we stood just outside the fair entrance. "It's even better than I imagined."

I don't know what Little Erik had imagined, because the fair was nothing amazing. It looked run down, dirty, though over crowded by far. Still, the colors and sounds must have been quite an experience to Little Erik, who had never seen them before.

He tugged on Christine's hand impatiently. "Wait, Little Erik. We have to pay for tickets first." She smiled. "Your father is getting them now."

I frowned. Not so much at Christine's saccharine town as at my own jealousy. Little Erik had practically been glued to his mother since they had been reunited. It was unfair of my to be envious, I knew, but I had grown so attached to him! I had grown used to him clinging to _my_ skirts! Without him I felt as if something about myself was severely lacking.

Still, at least Little Erik was spending time with Ann and Philippe. He needed time with family and children his own age. And, strange as it would seem, the three of them seemed to be getting along wonderfully. Philippe's foppiness and all!

"I got the tickets!" Raoul called to us as he approached. "It wasn't easy. I practically had to beat off an old lady, two guards, and a disgruntled chicken for these."

"Well, I hope you have two extra for us." Said a woman behind me. I turned.

There stood Willow Rose and Misty Breyer; their hair, eyes, and clothing altered, but their mischievous and mysteriously knowing smiles as bright as ever.

"Indeed." Raoul growled, heading back to the end of the line to purchase two more tickets.

**Elsewhere, One Week Later...  
**

**Pleading Eyes: **(Points to Remus Lupin) You'll be my angsty movie character. (Points to Dib from Invader Zim) You'll be my misunderstood animated character. (Points to Falco Lombardi) And you'll be my under-appreciated video game character!

**Lupin: **Alright. Now let's talk monthly rooming conditions...

**Dib: **You mentioned we're replacing an old crew? What happened to them? Were they abducted by ALIENS...?

**Falco: **FYI, I'm a mercenary. No cash, no Falco-bash...

**Crimson Fox: **(Runs in) Oh no! They just announced a food shortage on the news!

**Pleading Eyes: **WHAT?

**Crimson Fox: **Haha. Just kidding. But seriously though, this package came for you like a week ago. (Pushes in a huge box)

**Pleading Eyes: **... and you just NOW give it to me?

**Crimson Fox: **I was busy!

**Pleading Eyes: **Doing what?

**Crimson Fox: **Duh! Building this AWESOME potato gun! (Pulls out a giant potato launcher out of nowhere and shoots a potato right in the authoress's face) Sweet!

**Lupin: **Ms Authoress! (Helps Authoress up) Are you alright?

**Falco: **(Points to authoress) AHAHAHA! That was priceless! Good one, man! (High fives Crimson Fox)

**Dib: **That seems like an awfully advanced potato launcher. You wouldn't have happened to have had any ALIEN! help? Would you?

**Crimson Fox: **(Shifty eyed) Um... no. Anyway, I probably have work or something. Laters! (Runs off)

**Dib: **ALIENS! I SAY! (Jumps out of the window)

**Pleading Eyes: **Right... Anyway, back to this mysteriously package! (Opens box) What the...

**Erik: **(Climbs out, looking like he was just cramped in a box for a week with two other fictional guys... which he was) Sur...prise... (Collapses on floor)

**Link: **(Climbs out next) Next time... go FedEx... (Collapses on top of Erik)

**Haru the cow: **(Comes out) Moo... (Collapses on top of Lupin)

**Lupin: **(Muffled) Ow... I have an utter in my face.

**Falco: **No you don't. He looks like he's a male cow.

**Lupin: **Huh? EWW!

**Pleading Eyes:** ...you guys... came... for... me? (Eyes well up with tears) I MISSED YOU ALL SO MUCH! (Jumps on top of Link and Erik)

**Erik and Link: **Oof! Get off!

**Pleading Eyes: **And you too, Haru! (Jumps of of Link and Erik, and runs over to hoist Haru off of Lupin.)

**Haru the cow: **(Poofs back human) We'd go anywhere for you. After all, we're fictional characters. We onyl exist as long as yo believe in us, in a dark schizophrenic part of your mind.

**Pleading Eyes: **I LOVE YOU GUYS!

**Falco: **(Shielding his eyes) PUT SOME PANTS ON, MAN!

**Erik: **My dearest. (Bows)

**Link: **My devotion. (Kneels)

**Haru: **My dollface. (Winks)

**Falco: **MY EYES!

**Lupin: **(Coughs) My organs...

**Dib: **(From outside) MY LEGS! Oh, damn! I think I broke them!

**Pleading Eyes: **I'll never try to replace you ever again! I swear it! Unless I forget...

**Haru: **Deal.

**Link: **Hard to come, easy go.

**Erik: **I'll take what I can get.

**Then, the four fictional characters and the authoress shared a touching embrace. Meanwhile, Lupin was rushed to the hospital, Dib was sent to an asylum, and Falco stuck around a while to make more sarcastic comments.**

**Falco: **Now review! Or don't. I mean, it's not like I care. I just want to get paid so I can repair my arwing and fly off this stupid fic!

**Oh that silly Falco!****  
**


	31. Episode 29

**Pleading Eyes: **Erik? I'm feeling a bit on the teenage angsty side at the moment.Would you hug me?

**Erik: **Of course. (Goes over to the Authoress and huggles her)

**Haru: **Um... shouldn't you be doing review replies?

**Pleading Eyes: **Oh yes! Haru, be a dear and take care of those for me?

**Haru: **(Shrugs) Not like I have anything better to do.

------Review Replies------

**Kory Andola: **Yes! The song was from Avenue Q. And yes, that sneezing bit was from Dogma! The authoress' brother has that movie on DVD and the two of them had just finished watching it when she came to write the chapter. She hadn't planned on putting it in initially, it just sort of seemed to fit. Just like Me being in this phic in the first place. I'm glad you're enjoying the story! Nothing brings the authoress more joy than knowing her story has pleased. Well, that and practically anything edible.

**Just Plain Insane: **I'm glad you like the musical numbers! The authoress likes them too. Actually, I was beginning to think there were too many of them, but when I tried to tell her that she pelted me with pez dispensers. But as long as you enjoy them, then I guess she was right! I concede...

**free2bfroody: **Glad you're enjoying it! Thank you for reviewing, it makes the authoress go "squee" and fills her with joy. Joy is good. Anyway, if you liked the passed chapter, I think you'll like some of what she has in mind. (Looks around mysteriously)

**Eriks leadinglady: **I'm thrilled to hear that it made you laugh! The authoress tries, she really does. Actually, your review amused her to no end. Once she read that you had tried to act out the "c-c-crumpe-e-ets", she actually went back and tried to act it out repeatedly. It was quite amusing, if not a bit annoying.

**gavvie: **The song is "Schadenfruede" from Avenue Q. You can probably find the song on youtube dot com if you want to hear it. And yes, the authoress was VERY proud of the absorbing waterfowls line. Don't ask me why. But then again I guess you wouldn't, since you seem to "get it."

**Willow Rose: **Ah! Lady Rose! the authoress asked me to give you a special thanks for all your encouragement. You were one of the readers who really got her through it all. It is in part thanks to you that she has made her somewhat-triumphant return. Ah yes, as for the wicth hunters... well, you'll see. Wouldn't want to spoil it. Once again, thank you for everything! And here, your special gift. (Kisses Willow's hand) I hope you don't mind. (Steals a kiss on Willow's cheek) Okay, that last one wasn't from the authoress... we all just really like you.

------Review Replies------

**Haru: **Finished.

**Pleading Eyes: **Already? Wow, you work fast. I guess I should get to work then...

**Erik: **(Pulls authoress back) No wait! I'm sure there's another errand you can send Haru on.

**Pleading Eyes: **True... my life is burdened with an abundance of miscellaneous errands...

**Erik: **...like?

**Pleading Eyes: **Um... nope, drawing a blank.

**Erik: **(Sighs) Why don't you just go check on Link or something?

**Pleading Eyes: **Oh yeah! His new game is coming out in less than two months, so he's been really ancy! Better keep a close eyes on him, Haru.

**Haru: **Meh. (Leaves)

**Meanwhile in the Authoress' Closet...**

**Falco: **I'm telling you, Link. It's a magical goodies wall.

**Link: **I dunno... it has a nametage on it that says "Hi, my name is 4th wall." And the authoress said we're not allowed to touch it.

**Falco: **C'mon! That Rose and Breyer girl walk through it all the time! Like magic! I'm sure you'll go right through it, if you charge in head first at full speed.

**Link: **You really think so?

**Falco: **Trust me... Would I lie?

**Link: **Well, you are awfully bitter about being stuck here, unable to repair your arwing. And this could all be an illconcieved plea for attention so that the authores will let you leave.

**Falco: **It _could _be. But it could also _not _be. And besides, all the cool kids are doing it!

**Link: **Really? Well, I _do _want to be cool... And I _do _have all this rediculous extra energy...

**Falco: **See? It's a win-win situation.

**Link: **Okay then! I'll do it!

**Falco: **Good man! I'm just going to retreat to a safe distance so I can act like I had no part in this.

**Link: **OKAY!

**Falco: **Later! (Leaves)

**Link: **(Looks up at 4th wall) I'm gonna be so cool!

* * *

**Episode 29**

"I…" gasp, "got…" gasp, "the…" gasp, "tickets…" collapse.

"Papa?" Philippe said, walking over to a disgruntled Raoul, who was currently face down in the sand.

Raoul's reply was muffled as the sand entered his mouth. He bolted up immediately, spitting and hacking the sand out of his mouth as he stood. "I _said_, I got the tickets!" He exhaled in frustration, hading Willow and Misty their tickets.

"Thank you, Monsieur de Chagny." Willow said, tilting her head in respectful appreciation for his efforts.

"Yeah, thanks a bundle!" Said Misty, eyes sparkling in excitement.

It would have been difficult to tell Misty and Willow apart. You see, the two of them had changed their appearance to that of two Swedish sisters, perhaps even twins. Nonetheless, Misty's wide smile gave her away.

"Maman?" Ann said, coming forward, looking between Misty and Willow.

"Ann!" Willow knelt, arms widespread, as Ann ran into them.

It was the second mother-child reunion that day, and I was becoming increasingly jealous. I felt my shoulders sag from the effort to contain my disappointment.

"Meg Giry! Watch your posture! Are you not a dancer?" I straightened at the sound of a familiarly strict voice behind me, followed by the rapping of a cane.

"Maman…?" I turned, incredulous. There stood my mother, Madame Giry, in all her authoritarian glory. "Maman!" I found myself rushing into her arms like a child. I hadn't seen her in so long! I hadn't even realized how much I had missed her until that moment.

"How wonderful!" Christine said in a breathy voice. "Now we're all together again. Reunited and whole."

"Mhm." Misty replied apprehensively, leaning over towards Raoul. "You do realize this means you'll have to fetch another ticket?"

Raoul's eyes widened, then narrowed in hatred. He opened his mouth slowly, as if choosing his words very carefully. Then, he let loose a string of butchered syllables, sounding very similar to, "ARGSHAGRABBINMUTTERDUCKERSUCKERIBBENTECKER!"

About an hour later he had returned, disheveled and disoriented, my mother's ticket in hand.

"Thank you, monsieur." My mother said listlessly as he handed her the ticket.

Then the nine of us proceeded towards the fair gates. A large, dark-skinned, gypsy man stood at the entrance, bearing an exotic frightening knife. "Tickets." He barked gruffly. Ann hid behind her mother's skirts. I noticed this and turned to Little Erik expectantly, only to find him cowering behind Christine. I frowned, the familiar jealousy rising in my throat.

Ah well. We all stood in line and handed the frightening man and his very sharp knife our tickets. That is, all but Raoul.

"Don't tell me…" Raoul groaned, slapping his forehead with his palm. "I forgot to count myself! I don't have a ticket!"

The large man growled deep in his gut. "No ticket, no entry."

"Please, sir." Raoul beseeched the man. "I'll pay you here. Just let me pass… I already purchased eight others."

"No ticket, NO ENTRY!" The man thundered. Raoul shrank back.

"Right-o." He gestured towards us. "You go on ahead. I'll go get myself a ticket and catch up with you later." Raoul turned, chin held high, as a man heading into a losing battle, and walked back to the ticket line.

The rest of us walked on into the fair.

"Maman." I said, studying my mother. Her pale cheeks seemed to have gained color, and she was walking more ease. "You look much better!"

"Yes, the de Chagnys have seen to my medical treatment in your absence." She said formally, but giving me a kind smile. "Still, I have missed you so."

"I've missed you too, Maman." I whispered back reverently, embracing her once more.

"What's that?" Little Erik said, his eyes starry and bright.

He pointed to a stand, where a man was impaling apples with wooden sticks and then dipping them into a thick, sweet, syrupy, viscous liquid.

"Those are caramel apples!" Ann said, putting her hands to her face in a dreamy fashion. "They're delicious…"

Little Erik gasped and practically charged into the stand, jumping up and down so as to reach the man behind the stand. It was adorable. The stand was taller than he was!

"I'll take three, please!" Little Erik practically shouted, his voice enthralled, as he pulled out his money and tried to stay up long enough to hand it to the man. His first real purchase…

The man regarded Little Erik strangely. A small child dressed all in black? And wearing a mask? But catching sight of the money, he shrugged and handed Little Erik the apples. I watched as the man handed Little Erik his change, a deep wave of affection washing over me. I looked over at Christine. Her eyes were vacant, her head lost in the clouds. I pursed my lips disapprovingly.

"You are my daughter." My mother said with a slight laugh in response to my gesture.

"Wow, little Erik! Thanks!" Ann said cheerily, reaching for one of the apples.

"Hey!" Little Erik jumped back defensively, holding the apples away. "Who said they were for you? All three of them are for me!" He turned back to the apples with hungry eyes. That boy had such a penchant for sweets!

"Oh… excuse me then…" Ann said dejectedly, turning away and twiddling her fingers.

Little Erik munched on one apple, the sticky, gooey, caramely mess spreading all over his mouth and cheeks. He regarded Ann's reaction strangely, still munching and crunching. Finally he sighed, rolling his eyes and offering Ann one of the unbitten apples in defeat.

"Oh, thank you!" Ann said elatedly, taking the apple and liking at the caramel daintily.

"Omly fr yun!" Little Erik answered lamely, mouth still full of caramel.

"And for me too, of course!" Exclaimed Philippe, hopping up between them.

Little Erik swallowed, licking the caramel off his lips. "No!"

"C'mon!" Philippe whined. "We're brothers!"

"No way! Get your own!" Little Erik huddled over the apples protectively, smearing caramel all over the front of his coat and shirt.

"But I want _yours_!" Philippe insisted, beginning to cry.

Just as the miniature fop began to wail, Little Erik relented and stuffed the already bitten apple on his younger brother's shirt, soling it as well.

Philippe brightened immediately. "You're so generous!"

"Don't remind me." Little Erik grumbled, taking a bite out of his only remaining apple.

"Aren't they precious?" Willow said to me with a motherly smile.

"Apple-hoardingly so." I replied with a titter.

"Yeah, just wait until they're teenagers." Misty said, biting into what looked like… colored cotton?

"What the?" Willow groaned, then snatched the colored fluff away, discarding it. "Cotton candy, Misty? Really, we're supposed to be incognito here!"

"You're right." Misty admitted with a sigh. "I guess this means no dancing hobbits and confetti either." Willow glared. "I was just kidding, relax…" Misty laughed.

Willow shook her head, but laughed in spite of herself. Ann ran up to them suddenly, pulling at Willow's skirts and insisting for them to come and see the animals.

Little Erik and Philippe had busied themselves watching a sword swallower, both of them still sticky with caramel.

Raoul arrived about then, looking like he had just run through a pack of infuriated scissors but victorious nonetheless. He went to Christine's side immediately, holding her waist and keeping her close to him. Christine grinned up at him affectionately; glad to see her two sons getting along as their fathers never could.

"Christine was right after all." My mother said to me, her talent for ironic timing impeccable as ever. "It truly is wonderful, all of us reunited."

I felt like I should smile at those words. But something seemed to be missing. Looking at the way Raoul held Christine, and at Little Erik's anticipating face as he watched the performers, it came to me. Erik was missing. He should be here too; watching his son, with me standing beside him, looking upon him with that same warmness and affection that Christine and Raoul shared.

Beside me my mother sighed, moving to sit on a bench behind us. "I was afraid of this."

I blinked turning to face her curiously. "Afraid of what, Maman?"

She tried to smile, but it was terribly forced. "Oh Meg, if only you could see your own eyes. They betray everything."

I didn't understand what she was going on about, but it concerned me. "What do you mean?" I sat beside her, surprised as she seized my hands in her.

"Meg…" She began, as if unsure how to ask. Now this really troubled me. What in the world would give a strong, unshakeable woman like my mother such grief? "How long have you loved him?" I opened my mouth to ask whom she meant, but she continued. "Erik, Meg! Who else?" I felt myself gasp, against my own will.

"Maman, I don't…" But I couldn't bring myself to say it. I had never been able to lie to my mother. I looked away, panicked by the sudden realization. My eyes locked onto Little Erik, who had clambered onto the stage and was now showing the magician a few tricks of his own.

Seeing his small, endearing, masked visage, it all came to me clearly. I squeezed my mother's hands tightly, but did not pry my gaze from the little masked boy. Watching him, imagining his father there instead, I saw no permanent parting between us ahead.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_Eleven years later…_

I stood at my desk, still trying to concoct a solution. I ran a hand through my ever-graying hair, my hands unsteady with old age. I sighed, frustrated, and collapsed onto my work stool. The sunlight pouring in from the window caught my eyes, blinding me.

"Accursed sun!" I spat, hunching over my work to block out the rays. But despite however much I complained, the sun was a constant comfort to me. It was a reminder that I had moved out of the darkness, to a small cottage in the countryside, with my family. Yes, it reminded me that I had a wife, and many children. It reminded me that I was working, like an ordinary man, even if my work was not quite as ordinary. "At this rate, I'll never create a mask that looks like a human face…" I sighed.

My eldest son crashed through the wall that moment, riding some absurd contraption of his own creation. "That's it! I'm tired of your complaining!" Little Erik shouted defiantly, revving the motor on his… what was that?

"What's this new toy?" I asked, mildly irritated, rubbing at my temples.

"It's a bicycle!" Little Erik retorted rudely. "I attached a steam motor to it, is all! I call it… a bicymotor!"

"That's ridiculous." I chuckled. "You should call it a motorcycle."

"See? This is what I mean!" He whined, revving the contraption louder. "It's _my_ invention! I'll call it whatever I want! All you ever do is criticize and complain! You never get anything done!"

I rolled my eyes patiently. His mother was right; our sixteen year old was going through his rebellious phase… "So?" I asked, knowing he wouldn't stop until I acknowledged him.

"I'm leaving!" He threatened. "I'm leaving to go find a place where they appreciate people like me! And then you'll all be sorry! You'll all start to miss me and be like, 'Where's Little Erik?'" He put his hands up in imitation.

"Alright then, go." I shrugged, turning back to my work.

"Yeah! I'm going alright!" He went on. "And then you'll all be sad and be like 'I miss Little Erik. Where'd he go?' and I'll be like 'I'm never going back!'"

"Okay, bye!" I waved dismissively.

"I'm going!"

"There's the door."

"You'll be sorry!"

"We won't know until you leave."

"Yeah, and you can't stop me."

"Apparently not. Goodbye."

He paused. Silence but for the humming of his ridiculous contraption. Finally, the noise stopped as the boy shut down the bicymotor.

"I'll be good…" He said softly, bowing his head in defeat.

A knock at the door. Before I could so much as call "Come in!" a small, black haired boy, dressed all in black, wearing a long black jacket, and covering most of his face with his hair, entered.

"Philippe! Dude!" Little Erik said, running over to greet the boy. "What's up bro?"

I regarded the boy strangely. This was Raoul's son? "What happened to you?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Philippe shrugged listlessly. "I thought I'd alter my appearance to match the darkness of my soul." He said with a slight lisp. Not another phase…

"Well, to each his own." I turned back to my work, deciding it was better to just let it go.

"Philippe, no offense man…" I could hear Little Erik say with a slight laugh, "But your soul's about as dark as pink cookies in pink snow on a pink tray with pink sugar sprinkled on top, being eaten by an off-white polar bear… who's name is Pinky."

"You don't understand, man." I turned to look at the boys, wondering what in the hell Philippe thought we couldn't understand about darkness. "Life has no point. It's like we're drifting around, being toyed with, so the government can look down at us and laugh at our foibles and mishaps. It's like, the meaninglessness of our existence is always with us, and the more we try to fight it, the more it pressures us, crushing down on our organs, squeezing tighter and tighter, in an endless abyss of tightness. As tight as mom's corset… which I look great in by the way."

My eyes widened at the last statement, but I said nothing. Nope. No reason for me to get involved. I was happy being an unfashionable old man, working and complaining, having nothing to do with today's demented youth.

Another knock at the door. "Come—" I began, but giggles interrupted me. "Eh, what's the point?" I shrugged, resting my head on my fist. Manners, apparently, weren't the 'in thing' anymore.

"OMG!" Little Erik said excitedly. "It's our dates!"

"O rly?" Philippe sighed, depressingly enough to bring even my spirits down. "What's the difference? Date. No date. In the end we're all going to be in the ground, the maggots feeding on our flesh."

"Like, hi guys!" Winanona and Stella invited themselves in, giggling uncontrollably.

"Hi Mr. Fantome!" Winanona said, still giggling. Honestly, what was so damn funny?

"Mmph." I responded, managing something like a wave hello.

"Like, we're so totally bored and stuff, so can we go already?" Stella said quickly.

"Chill, babeh." Little Erik said, puffing up his chest. "We'll go when we go."

"Where are we going, anyway?" Winanona said in an irritatingly sing-song voice.

"I dunno." Little Erik said with a shrug. "Lunch?"

"Eww!" Stella and Winanona chorused, the discordant sound grating my nerves like nails on a chalkboard.

"We're, like, on the mondo humongo ultra diet!" Stella said, seemingly insulted.

"Yeah, we can't, like, eat anything with more calories than air!" Winanona added.

"Eat. Don't eat. It doesn't matter in the end." Philippe said, one hand reaching up femininely to brush back a bang, only for it to slide back in place over his eye. "Be you a King or Street Sweeper, we must all tango with the grim reaper."

"Tch. You are, like, totally lame!" Stella said, poking Philippe accusingly.

"Duh. I _totally_ call L-Er for this date!" Winanona replied, moving closer to Little Erik.

"That's fine." Philippe said, nonchalant. "More suffering, more rejection, more fodder for my poetry."

Little Erik smirked haughtily. "Hey, ladies." He picked up a keg of highly flammable alcohol concentrate, and proceeded to run around the room, drenching it. "What do you think about that? Risky, eh?" He said, gesturing to the many candelabra in the house. The girls swooned.

"Wait!" Stella said, eyes wide as if she had just suffered a stroke of genius. "Omigosh! Bad boys are totally not cool anymore! Suddenly and inexplicable I'm attracted to Philippe."

Hearing this, Winanona pushed Little Erik aside, rushing over to Philippe just as Stella did. "Geez! Suddenly I'm, like, totally attracted to Philippe too!"

Both girls wrapped themselves around Philippe as if their lives suddenly depended on him. Philippe was unaffected either way. Little Erik, on the other hand, looked aghast.

"What do you mean bad boys are out? Bad boys are never out!" He protested.

But the girls paid him no heed as they dashed out the door with their new companion.

"It's not fair!" Little Erik whined, slamming his fists on the table where I had been working. "Philippe doesn't know as much about suffering as I do! I'm just not whiny about it like he is!"

"Not whiney?" I chuckled, though in annoyance rather than humor. "I beg to differ."

"I hate you!" Little Erik shouted, pointing at me in fickle adolescent hatred. "Mom and I should've left you a long time ago! I hate you!"

I sighed again, my patience reaching its limits. I opened my mouth to call my wife to come and deal with the boy, when I suddenly realized I couldn't remember who my wife was. Oh, great! I was going senile too.

"WIFE!" I hollered. "WIFE!"

"What?" came the response from the next room.

"Get in here!"

"I'm tired, Erik!" She whined. "I just had your fiftieth child a few hours ago!"

Fiftieth? Good lord, that many? "Erm, real quick?" I barely managed to say. I really needed help with the boy, and besides, I was curious to see who she was!

Out came my beautiful Christine. I breathed in relief. Strange though, she hadn't aged a day! And her figure was impeccable! How had she managed to have so many children?

"What is it now?"

"Dad's, like, being mean and stuff!" Little Erik whined, adopting a childish tone. Manipulative whelp! I turned to face him and give him a strong retort.

"Oh, Erik…" I shut my mouth before I could say a word, shocked by the change in my wife's voice. I whirled around to find she had transformed into Marguerite.

"What the…?" I stared blankly at my, different, though still impossibly young and beautiful, wife.

"Honestly, can't the two of you get along for two minutes?" Marguerite looked at me compassionately, as if my confusion was a familiar sight. "Tired, Erik?"

"I must be." I closed my eyes, shaking my head. "My mind's playing tricks on me." I opened my eyes and looked back at my wife. She was Christine again. "What in the seven hells…?"

"Well, get some rest then." Christine said to me gingerly. "And Little Erik, try not to give your father an aneurysm." She said patiently.

"Fine, I guess…" Little Erik said, staring at a candelabra, and the pool of alcohol beneath it.

I looked at the alcohol and began to say something when Marguerite's voice interrupted my thoughts.

"Erik, come help me with the children." There was no way I was going to change forty-nine diapers, not even for Christine and Marguerite combined!

I stood, forgetting little Erik for the moment, and grabbed Marguerite by the arm, spinning her to face me. "Why do we even HAVE so many children? Just… sell them or something!"

"Erik!" She huffed, deeply offended. "It's your own fault you know! I tried to tell you, but you just couldn't keep your hands off me." She snatched her arm away, wagging her finger at me. "I get up in the morning, you're there making out with me! I get dressed, you're making out with me! I make breakfast, you make out with me. I make out with you, you're making out with me. Insatiable man!"

I stopped, temporarily fixated on the idea of her changing between Marguerite and Christine _while_ I was making out with her. Whatever 'making out' was.

"Erik!" She cried, noticing my wandering thoughts.

"What is it woman?" It was terribly annoying to have been roused from such interesting thoughts.

"Oh, don't you raise your voice at me!"

"I'll raise my voice at whomever I please!" I shouted, louder.

Meanwhile, Little Erik seemed to be trying to figure something out. His gaze shifted from the alcohol puddle to the candelabra, back and forth and back and forth, as if he was trying to remember what he was supposed to do.

"You're impossible!" Christine cried.

"You're unbearable!" I retorted.

"Oh, Erik! When you shout it makes me so hot!" Christine shouted back, her voice holding inflections of Marguerite.

"Oh yeah? When you shout—wait, what did you say?" And instantly Christine was pressed against me. I covered her mouth with my own, feeling her lips shift shape as she reformed into Marguerite.

The room was suddenly very hot and difficult to breathe in. But it was not just because of the activity I was currently engaged in.

"I did it!" Little Erik squealed behind me. "Fire goes _into_ the flammable liquid! It all seems so simple now!"

Even as the entire house ignited, I didn't bother to open my eyes. I was old, dammit! If I was going to die, I might as well die entwined with my beloved… and her best friend... at the same time… morphing between the two.

"Dad!" Little Erik screamed, suddenly in a panic! "The whole house is going down! My brothers and sisters! All forty-nine of them!"

Marguerite, or Christine, or whoever the hell she was at the moment, broke away from me and looked over my shoulder. "Not now, hon. The adults are busy." Then she turned back to me and slammed her lips against mine once more.

"Okay, fine. I'll remember my manners." Little Erik, said, sitting down, waiting patiently for us to finish before he addressed us again.

A wooden beam fell from the ceiling, crumbling from the fire, crashing with a…

BAM!

I woke with a start, gasping for breath. I would have sat up, had I not already been sitting. I looked around rapidly, in a panic. Was I insane? I had to get out! And my wife and my children, and… I stopped, breathing desperately as I realized there was no fire. I was in my sitting room, on my chair, in my underground lair.

I leaned back, bringing a hand to my thundering heart. What a nightmare! I glanced at the floor, finding my morphine supplies scattered about. It wasn't eleven years later. The entire ordeal with Marguerite couldn't have occurred more than a few hours ago.

Yes, it was all coming back to me now. The chess game with the child, that damned fop coming to invite us to the fair—the nerve! Yes, and then the argument with the child, Marguerite's reassurance, how I had retreated into the sitting room for a moment's peace, how Marguerite had come after me moments later…

The kiss. The kisses. Her touches and caresses. My confusion and my anger, my arousal and my disappointment. She had left me, aching. I remembered it all as the dream began to fade away. I had sat for so long, simply replaying the events until they had become hazy. Then I had fetched my morphine supplies and allowed myself to slip away from all the confusion.

The morphine!

I glared down at the needles furiously. How dare it play tricks on my sleeping mind!

The entire concept had been absurd! Imagine me… erm… what had the dream been about again? I suddenly couldn't remember. It had all faded away into the recesses of my subconscious. The harder I tried to pull the memory back, the further it fled, until my frustration finally won and I scoffed in exasperation.

But as lost to me as the entire situation was, one detail remained firmly in place. In the dream I had been with a woman who shifted constantly between Christine and Marguerite. I couldn't remember if we were lovers or if we had even been married. Perhaps it was an affair. Regardless, the point was that the concept of the two being one brought with it many powerful connotations.

I didn't want to think about it. My body was still shaking from the rush of adrenaline. I needed to calm myself down, not upset myself further.

Where _was_ Marguerite anyway? And the boy for that matter? I was fairly certain I had groaned loudly in exasperation. Why weren't they rushing into the room, curiosity peaked, as to what could possibly be bothering me?

I stood, my legs still unsteady from the rush, and stumbled out into the main room, leaning wearily against the doorframe.

Darkness. Not a single candle lit.

It couldn't be that late. They wouldn't be asleep! I brought a hand to my chest to check my slowing heart and took a deep breath.

Odd. There was something odd about my inside jacket pocket. Or more accurately, there _wasn't_ something odd about it. I patted my chest, feeling over where the pocket would be. Completely flat. No trace of the crumpled flyer.

I reached in to be sure. Empty.

I could feel my muscles clench as rage-fueled adrenaline overtook me once again.

Suddenly, I knew exactly where they had gone.

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* * *

**Link: **(Stumbles into the bedroom, holding his lumpy head) Ow...

**Pleading Eyes:** (Looks up from nuggling Erik) What happened to you?

**Link: **Me head go ouchy! Concrete very mean!

**Erik: **Let me guess... you tried to run through a wall?

**Link: **(Sniffles) Mhm. I chipped it too. But I couldn't get through. I guess I'm just not cool.

**Pleading Eyes: **Of course you're cool, Link! (Walks over to him) In fact, you're so cool, that I'm going to let you play on the computer and watch trailers of yourself in your games! Then you'll see how cool you are!

**Link: **Really?

**Pleading Eyes: **Sure...

**Link: **Hurray! (Sits at computer)

**Pleading Eyes: **I'm hungry. Erik, watch Link while I go make some dinner. And make sure he doesn't open any of my documents!

**Erik: **As you wish.

**Pleading Eyes: **(Leaves)

**Falco: **(Looks into the room.) Perfect... Bwahahahaha!

**Erik: **What're you laughing manically at?

**Falco: **Um... Link's stupidity?

**Erik: **Hmm... yes. He is quite stupid. (Shrugs) Fair enough. Proceed.

**Falco: **BWAHAHAHAHA! Review!

* * *


	32. Episode 30

**Link: **(Singing to himself as he uses the computer) Surfin' on the internet! Duh-nuh-nuh-nuh! Browsing for adventure. Duh-nuh-nuh-nuh! Googling for mahself! Duh-nuh-nuh-nuh! Because... I can! Duh-nuh-nuh-nuh.

**Erik: **Oh stars, STOP! As a former impersonator of the angel of music, you disgust me! I'd rather listen to nails on a chalkboard, or a teenage pop singer than you!

**Link: **Wow... that's harsh.

**Erik: **In fact, because I can't seem to get your grating voice out of my head, I think I'm going to KILL someone!

**Link: **Or you could just go do review replies.

**Erik: **Isn't Haru doing those?

**Falco: **Nope, he's narrating today.

**Erik: **Oh. Eh, might as well then. Keep an eye on the fairy boy.

**Falco: **(Salutes sarcastically) Will do.

------Review Replies------

**Willow Rose: **Ah, Lady Rose. I must admit it is a pleasure to be hearing from you once again. And while I can't seem to fathom why an intelligent woman such as yourself would ever be interested in the "Missing Hanson Brother" (As Monsiuer Haru so eloquently put it) I am still quite grateful for your offer to take him from Christine. Though it troubles me that you seem to hold Mademoiselle Daae in disdain. I assure you, she is a most exquisite young woman. Just... don't tell Marguerite I said that. She tends to be jealous of my affections, which suited me fine, until she figured out how to work my punjab lasso.

**gavvie: **Yes. Yes they are. Silly in that "if I murdered them all in cold blood, the world would thank me and be a better place for it" way. Oh no wait, I'm thinking of fops. Pardon me. Emos, you say? I can only assume you mean whatever I dreamt the child fop as. Yes, that was rather silly, wasn't it? Especially since I didn't punjab him on the spot. But I digress. It brings the authoress great joy to knw she has brought laughter to her readers. Thank you for encouraging her.

**LunaMoon7: **Me? At the fair? Now why would I go to the fair? I mean, it's not like I'm in a blind rage because that STUBBORN LITTLE BALLET RAT MARGUERITE DECIDED TO KIDNAP MY SON AND WHISK HIM AWAY TO THE VERY SAME TYPE OF PLACE WHERE I WAS IMPRISONED AND ABUSED FOR MOST OF MY CHILDHOOD! ...thought I suppose I might drop by to say hello to some gypsies. Yes... say hello... Hmm? What was that, my dear? Tacos?

**Just Plain Insane: **Ah yes. Braces, terrible things. The authoress had hers removed just last April. She gorged herself right after. Not that wearing them ever impeded her from eating. No, the girl would try to eat a caramel apple even without teeth. Stubborn woman. But while we're on the subject of the authoress, she instructed me to thank you for your kind words. She is glad you found the dream as insane as she did. The fact is, she just really wanted an excuse to make Philippe an "emo", whatever that means. Best of luck to you and I wish you many caramel apples to feast upon with your soon-to-be-beautiful smile. Once those infernal brackets come off, of course.

------Review Replies------

**Falco: **(Looks around, shifty-eyed) Link.

**Link: **STOP! Linky time! Doo-doot-doot-doot. Doo-doot. Doo-doot.

**Falco: **HEY MORON!

**Link: **Whaaaaat?

**Falco: **The coast is clear! Now you can open the authoress' documents and see what she's hiding in there!

**Link: **(Shrugs) Probably more of her writing. Besides, we're no allowed to look in there.

**Falco: **Says who?

**Link: **The authoress.

**Falco: **Oh really? And when did she say that?

**Link: **All the time. Everyday. Even in her sleep.

**Falco: **Yeah... but... What was the _last _time she said it?

**Link: **About fifteen minutes ago, when she caught you trying to trick me into opening the documents folder.

**Falco: **Yes! But Link! Don't you know what day is today?

**Link: **No. I never know.

**Falco: **It's opposite day! The authoress only said that because she _wants _you to open her documents!

**Link: **Really? Wait... isn't that what you said sixteen minutes ago, when she caught you?

**Falco: **Yes.

**Link: **I'll do it! (Clicks on "My Documents")

**Voice Inside Documents: **Help... me...

**Link: **Gasp! What's that?

**Falco: **I dunno... click it!

**Link: **But it might be dangerous.

**Falco: **Exactly!

**Link: **Okay! (Clicks story titled "Shape In The Shadows")

**Voice Inside Microsoft Word: **Yes! Now click print... hurry!

**Link: **I don't know... I need moral guidance! Falco, what do you think?

**Falco: **Do it!

**(Link clicks print. But instead of the story printing out, an unrevealed fictional character is printed out!)**

**Unrevealed Fictional Character: **Yes! I'm free! Free! Now, to get my revenge on the authoress! But how...?

**Link: **Ooh! Ooh! I know! You could ruin her current fanfic! Oh, but that would be mean. Nevermind, don't do it.

**U.F.C: **...right. How do I get to this fanfic?

**Falco: **Fourth wall's that way. (Points to closet) And it's already got a chip in it, so you should be able to get through.

**U.F.C: **Thanks. Now I'm off to take my revenge! BWAHAHAHAHA! (Runs into closet)

**Link: **Wait... he doesn't really mean it, right? Since it's opposite day?

**Falco: **...whatever. (Walks out of room)

**Erik: **(Comes back in) Finished. You didn't do anythng stupid while I was gone, did you?

**Link: **Maybe.

**Erik: **...I hate you.

**Link: **Aww, Erik! I love you too! I mean hate! Haha. Opposite day is fun!

**Episode 30**

The day was wearing down. The sun was beginning to set, painting streaks of orange, violet, and red across the azure sky. All around, the feeling of twilight created a world over-saturated with color. And the music and crashing cymbals of the fair made the air crackle with magic.

It was good.

Sitting on a bench, watching a gypsy perform her native dance with scarves of multihued silk, like fluttering rainbows caressing the air around her; our protagonists stared up at the stage before them.

"Your new appearance is very flattering." Meg said to Willow, admiring her straight black hair. "Although it doesn't look very Swedish."

"That's the point!" Misty cut it. "If we looked _too_ Swedish, then it might be suspicious. But if we say we're Swedish, even if we don't really look it, then the persecutors will think it isn't us. They'll assume that if we're going to disguise ourselves, we wouldn't bother with a _bad_ disguise and stuff. So they overlook us. It's brilliant!"

Meg gave Misty a strange look. "Are… you certain?"

Willow sighed, turning to reassure their blonde friend. "Yes Meg. It is quite an ingenious idea, even if Misty explained it in a stupid way."

Misty stuck out her tongue at Willow, who pretended not to notice.

"But, speaking of which, what of the witch hunters? Have they surfaced?" Meg asked, back on subject.

"No. Not as a group." Willow explained. "They're keeping a low profile so as to trick us out of hiding. But Misty and I have noticed suspicious persons snooping around Paris."

"Mhm! Probably spies." Misty added with much more excitement than she should have.

"But that means…" Meg trailed off, uncertainly.

"That's right." Willow finished the thought for her. "They could be anyone."

One bench in forward sat the children. Ann leaned closer to Little Erik, whispering to him in delight. "It's almost nighttime! There'll be fireworks soon."

"Fireworks?" Little Erik mused aloud. "I've read about those! They sound amazing!"

Ann smiled at the sight of his excitement. "You'll really like it! They're so pretty!"

"Like that mysterious Gem girl?" Philippe interjected, scooting over to lean against Little Erik's other side.

"Uh… who?" Ann feigned ignorance nervously. Surely Little Erik would not remember…

"C'mon! That girl!" Philippe insisted. "The one Little Erik was all obsessed over. The one that took Stella's place at his opera! C'mon! Remember? I was there, and you were there, and Madame Giry was there…"

Misty suddenly moved her feet to rest up on the bench in front of her, kicking and knocking Philippe off of his bench. "Oops, sorry! Accident." She said with a mischievous grin.

"Thank you." Ann mouthed to Misty. Her assistance in quieting that foppy idiot was much appreciated.

But it came too late. Little Erik's eyes had already become distant. "Yes. How could I have forgotten? She was beautiful!"

"But she's gone now!" Ann said, too quickly. "So it's not like it matters!"

"Not like it matters?" Little Erik stood, slightly annoyed by her lack of understanding. "You just don't get it, Winanona! She had the perfect voice for what I was trying to accomplish!"

"I… could try." Ann said with trepidation, looking down at her hands on her lap.

"No way!" Little Erik said rudely, childishly. "No one could ever compare to that girl with features like gems. No one!"

Tears welled in Ann's eyes. The hopelessness, the unfairness of it all! He didn't want her. He wanted a girl who did not exist. Not that he would believe her anyway, not after how well Misty had covered for her absence. She couldn't tell him. She would never tell him!

But just at that moment, a firework went off in the distance. The sun hadn't completely set yet; the firework had been only a test. And yet the exploding colors, refracted by the clouds, filtered through the hues of the gypsy's scarves, off-set by the sunset, and reflecting onto the tears that ran down Ann's cheeks, created a most bizarre effect. Ann's face appeared flushed and painted; her natural prettiness softened and enhanced. Little Erik stared at her in complete shock, recognizing the illusion immediately.

"Ann? You're… Gem?" Ann gasped, snapping up to face him. Little Erik's eyes were so confused, and yet so expectant. Something shattered in Ann, then. She knew, from then on it wouldn't be her Little Erik looked at. It would be Gem. She couldn't accept that. She just couldn't!

Little Erik reached forward to touch her face gently, but Ann stood. She had to get away. She had to get away from _him_. Before Little Erik could react, Ann jumped over the bench behind her and ran for the first hiding place that caught her eye.

Not too far away stood a tent. She could hide there; she could crouch and remain tucked away until it was time to go home. Hurrying, despite how difficult her building tears made it to see, she made her way to the tent quickly. As soon as it was within her grasp, she pulled back the dirtied white sheet and went in.

Inside the tent it was much darker; only a few flickering candles sputtering low to illuminate the place. Ann sniffled and wiped away her tears with the back of her small hands, trying to calm herself. He wouldn't find her. In fact, he probably wasn't even looking for her.

The realization relieved Ann, but it also made her incredibly sad. Perhaps she had been wrong about Little Erik. Perhaps…

Just then, an obstruction in the center of the room caught Ann's eye, causing her to temporarily forget her unhappiness. It was large, with a thick, dirty brown curtain thrown over it. At the bottom, black bars resting on wheels could be seen hanging out of the curtain. Ann blinked in curiosity. It could be anything. Props for a magic show, fireworks, instruments, even food for the animals. Or so she thought, until she heard a whimper come from under the dirty curtain.

Ann suppressed a gasp of surprise. Someone or something was in there. Maybe it was one of the animals she had seen earlier.

"What kind of a person leaves a poor, defenseless creature alone; in a cage, covered by such a filthy cloth?" Ann said to herself in disgust. And true, as she approached the cage, the more disgusting details could be made out on the curtain.

Ann touched the curtain with only the tips of her fingers, her nose wrinkling in revulsion at how grimy the cloth felt. For a moment she hesitated, thinking she saw something move out of the corner of her eye. But when she turned too look she realized it was just a pile of brown rags, stacked high upon a chair. Shaking her head, she turned back to the curtain and peeked inside.

It was too dark to make anything out clearly, but she could smell straw and… was that blood? In the corner, a shadow shifted with another whimper, revealing the creature's location. Ann strained her eyes to see through the dark, daring to pull the curtain open just a little bit further to let in more light.

Just as she began to discern a silhouetted, Ann felt large, rough hands grab her delicate little arm and yank her away. Before she could orient herself, she was thrown violently to the dirt floor.

Ann caught her breath and looked up. Above her stood what she could only assume to be a man. In reality, he looked more like a gigantic wall of muscle and sinew. The man's dry, cracked lips curled into a snarl, and he barked at Ann in a heavy accent. "You didn't pay to see the freak!"

Ann felt bile rise to her throat as the man lunged at her. Ann scampered away, pulling herself across the floor for a few steps, before she managed to haul herself to her feet. She ran for the exit, but the terrifying man caught up to her, catching her by the throat and dragging her back to the center of the tent.

"I'm sorry!" Ann gagged, feeling her throat cave in on itself.

"Pay now!" the terrifying man ordered, throwing her against the cage. Ann felt a bar slam against her left shoulder blade and cried out.

She fell to the floor with a thud, clutching at her shoulder in pain. "I-I don't have any money. Please, if you just let me go get my mother—"

But the terrifying man would not hear of it, and instead brandished a dagger from his boot. "If you can't pay, then I'll just take it out on your flesh!" He growled, grabbing Ann's little wrist with bone-splintering force and stretching her hand out in his meaty palm. "What do you think? Three fingers sound fair?"

"No please!"

"No, then you'd be uneven. I know; I'll take three off the other hand too!"

"Ahh!" Ann screamed as he lifted the knife over his head. She tried to struggle, tried to pull away, but she could not even budge from his grip. The knife came down towards her white little hands, which in moments would be marred and bloody. She shut her eyes, braced herself, and heard the collision of metal against metal.

_Wait, metal?_ Ann opened her eyes and looked up at the terrifying man. He looked as confused as she was; the hand that until mere seconds ago held the dagger, now empty. Across the floor the dagger skid, a black knife lying against it.

The terrifying man stared befuddled for a moment, but then roared in fury. "Then I'll take the payment in skin and blood!" His free hand drew a whip. Once again he lifted the whip over his head as he prepared to strike.

This time, the thud of impaled wood sounded. The man tried to bring his whip down, but found it stuck. Ann looked up at the whip. It had been nailed to a wooden post behind it by another black knife.

The terrifying man's eyes followed her gaze, realizing just what was holding his arm back. With a snarl of irritation, the man released his grip on Ann and pulled out the knife pinning his whip.

Ann began to stand, hoping she could sneak away while the terrifying man pondered what just happened, but an amiable voice stopped her.

"Stay put, mademoiselle. I wouldn't want you in harm's way." The voice was definitely masculine, deep enough to be an adult, and yet held a light boyish charm to it. It reminded Ann of Raoul in some ways, though without the stupidity of his former self and without the bitterness of his newer self.

She turned to where the voice had come, her gaze meeting the pile of brown rags. Then the rags shifted, two legs coming out of the pile and planting themselves on the floor. The rags, or cloaked man as Ann came to realize, stood. He walked over, seeming completely unbothered, and approached them.

By now the terrifying man had managed to dislodge his whip and whirled around furiously to face whoever had dared to intervene with his sadistic proceedings. "You son of a—"

"Now, now!" The cloaked figure interrupted, spreading his arms in a jovial gesture of welcome. "We must watch our language whilst in the presence of a lady."

"I'll say whatever I damn well please, you bastard!" The man retorted, spit flying from his mouth.

"Tch. Now that was just rude." The cloaked figure said disapprovingly, yet gently; as one might reproach a child. "What makes you think my parents weren't married?"

With a roar the man leapt at the cloaked figure. Ann gasped at the sight. It looked as if a giant tangle of flesh was charging at the cloaked figure with the intention to crush him. But the cloaked figure did not even wince. Instead he calmly waited until the last possible moment and then stepped aside.

The huge, terrifying man had no time to stop and ran head first into another wooden post. The post splintered and broke upon impact. The terrifying man held his head, groaned in pain, and then collapsed. Ann stared at the bizarre scene before her blankly.

"It's silly, really." The cloaked figure said with a slight giggle, bringing Ann out of her stupor. "I warned him to watch his language in front of a lady. Karma works quickly in such cases."

The cloaked figure approached Ann, who still sat on the floor were the now unconscious man had dropped her. She could not help but tremble as the cloaked figure came near, and she strained to see inside his hood, to no avail.

The cloaked figure stopped right in front of her and offered his hand. Ann could only stare, dumbfounded. "C'mon, I won't bite.' The cloaked figure teased playfully.

Steeling her courage, Ann took the cloaked figure's hand. His hand was warm and clean, she noticed, and surprisingly nimble. On her feet, Ann looked up at the man, still trying to discern what lay behind the shadow of his hood.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"Meh. No one special." He replied with a shrug. "Why, does it bother you not to know?"

"At least let me see your face!" Ann commanded, her usual boldness returning.

"As you wish, milady." The cloaked figure said with a mock bow. He treated the entire situation as if it were a child's game!

Straightening, he pulled back his hood, revealing a man in his mid-twenties. His hair was a mustard blond, tied back, with two bangs framing the sides of his face. His bright, childishly wide, green eyes sparkled above a small, button nose. And on the bridge of said nose, running down to barely meet his cheeks, were light little freckles. He was an attractive man, but in a cutely boyish way rather than a handsome one.

"Not quite what you expected, is it?" He said with a laugh, his eyes squinting into moon-like crescents as he did so.

"Thank you for helping me." Ann said, suddenly remembering her manners. "How rude of me! I haven't even introduced myself! My name is Winanona Rose. Oh, but everyone calls me Ann."

"Well then Winanona Rose but everyone calls me Ann, it is a pleasure." He said with another mock bow, laughing again as if he found himself terribly amusing.

Ann smiled. There was something very strange about this man. She felt as if it should worry her, but she could not bring herself to think ill of a man who carried himself so much like a schoolboy. It fascinated her too that he still possessed childhood freckles, even though he was clearly physically matured.

"May I know your name?" She said with a smile, deciding that she liked this man very much.

"Ah, well..." He looked away, as if he was unsure, but then turned back to her with his same untroubled smile. "I—"

"Ann!" called a familiar voice from outside. Ann inhaled sharply, remembering why she was here in the first place. How could she have forgotten? Little Erik!

"Ann!" his voice called again. "Where are you? Aren't you going to watch the fireworks with me?"

"Ann!" called Philippe's voice, also nearby. "Little Erik said I'm an ignoramus! What's an ignoramus?"

"Shut up, you!" Little Erik snapped.

"No, you shut up!"

"You are so stupid!"

"Oh yeah? Well… _you're_ stupid!"

"Can't you even come up with a comeback? Stupid!"

"Your face is stupid!"

Little Erik scoffed angrily. "Your hair is stupid!"

"Your mom is stupid!"

An incredulous pause.

"My mom is your mom!"

"… you're still stupid."

"ARG! ANN! WHERE ARE YOU?"

"Friends of yours?" The freckled man said, pointing outside the tent with his thumb.

"Yes." Ann stopped, reconsidering this. "Well, sort of. Anyway, it sounds like they're looking for me."

"You should go then." The man said kindly. "They're probably worried about you."

"I guess…" Ann didn't want to go out. Now that she remembered what had happened, she also remembered that she had been hiding.

"You should go before this guy wakes up." He added, looking at the unconscious man who began to stir.

"Oh, right." Ann said with a nervous laugh. "Thanks again! I hope we meet again someday!" Ann called behind her as she rushed out of the tent.

"I'm sure we will, mademoiselle Rose." The freckled man said to himself with a puckish smile. "After all, I _am_ stalking you."

"Oi. Jayden." The large man said, rubbing his sore head as he stood. "You didn't have to be that rough."

"Hey!" The freckled man retorted, putting his palms out in front of him in defense. "I didn't even touch you."

"I wasn't really gonna do it, ya know." The large man continued. "I was just trying to scare her. Teach her a lesson 'bout stealing."

Jayden rolled his eyes, smiling knowingly. "She was just being curious. It's not like she tried to break him out or anything."

"Hey!" The large man stood before Jayden, completely serious. "Little girls have a tendency to do such things. You can never be too careful. Why, I remember, in my old troop, we had one of the best freaks you ever saw. Raked in all sorts of cash. But then some pointy-toed, tutu-wearing, ballerina tramp stole him! Freak killed a friend of mine too."

"Okay, okay. Settle down." Jayden said, still seeming carefree. "You'll find a replacement eventually. In the meantime, I'm going to go report to _the man_."

"_The man_? You still with that religious garble?"

Jayden laughed sweetly, sashaying towards the exit. "That's not even grammatically correct." Then with a skip he made his way out of the tent. "See you at closing time."

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"Ann!" I could hear little Erik's voice beginning to tire. It felt good to know he was looking for me, even if he only wanted answers about Gem. Still, I felt guilty for worrying him like this. "Ann!"

"I'm here." I said, walking towards him and Philippe.

"Ann! You're alright!" Little Erik said, staring my up and down to make sure. "What happened? Where did you go?"

"Little Erik, I…" I didn't really know what to tell him. How could I explain that the whole Gem disguise had been because I was afraid to ask him if I could be in his opera? Afraid of his rejection. How could I make him understand? "I didn't tell you about Gem because I wanted you to like me."

Little Erik raised his visible eyebrow, cocking his head to the side adorably. "Huh?"

"I wanted you to like _me_. Not Gem." I clarified. "I thought, if you knew that I was Gem, then you'd be angry. You'd be angry that she didn't really exist, that I wasn't naturally Gem." I looked down at my shoes, unable to meet his eyes. "I was scared that, if you knew… you would never like me."

"But Ann, I already liked you!" Little Erik said.

"Wha?" I looked up at him. He was smiling, that warm smile I loved so much.

"I mean, as much as a boy _can_ like a girl!" Little Erik said with a shrug. "You're the most awesome girl I know! You're smart and strong and funny…and you're pretty too." He blushed, faltering suddenly. "I mean, pretty as far as you cootie-ridden girls go."

"You… you really mean that?"

"Of course!" Little Erik stamped his foot for emphasis, dust flying up around us from the impact. "The only reason I was so obsessed with that Gem girl was because of her voice! It was just what I needed for my music! But now that I know that _you_ have such a voice, who needs Gem?"

"But, I thought you loved her." I had been so certain. His distant eyes, his dreamy expression, his obsession with knowing about her; wasn't that love?

"Eww!" Little Erik wiped his mouth on his sleeve as if disgusted. "C'mon, Ann! I'm a four year old boy! Girls are still gross to me! Present company excluded, of course. I won't care about boy-girl love at least until I hit puberty! And until then, good riddance to it!"

I bit my lip, worried by this revelation. "But, we're still friends. Right?"

"Duh! You're my dearest and best friend, Winanona! I wouldn't trade you for the world." Little Erik replied, almost angry. "Now stop acting like such a dumb girl and come watch the fireworks with me." He finished, taking my hand and pulling me away with him.

I could feel the blush creep up to my cheeks as I followed behind him. He was such an extraordinary boy. I could wait until we grew up. Yes, I could most definitely wait. In fact, this was even better. I could still enjoy our friendship. There was no rush at all! Not if he still cared about me.

"You're my best friend too, Little Erik." I replied belatedly. Little Erik stopped and turned to face me.

"Ugh, fine. But just this once!" He rolled his eyes and leaned close to me. I opened my mouth to ask him what he was doing, but froze as I felt his lips graze my cheek. It lasted only an instant before he pulled back, wiping his mouth with his sleeve again. "And don't you tell anyone! Ever!"

"Yes… I mean no!" I said bringing a hand up to cover the cheek where he had just kissed me, as if to hide any invisible evidence. "I won't tell anyone."

"No, but I might!" Philippe chimed behind us. Oh yeah, he had been with us. "_Little Erik and Ann, sitting in a tree!_" He chanted. "_K-I-S-S-I-N-G_!"

"Shut up!" Little Erik yelled, embarrassed and irate. "You're just jealous! Shut up!"

"Ignore him." I said, pulling Little Erik back to me. "It's not like anyone actually _listens_ to what he says." Little Erik nodded, though still unconvinced. "Really, just forget about him. Look!" I pointed up at the night sky, where a firework streaked across the stars.

"It's stared!" Little Erik gasped in excitement. "Hurry! We have to get back to the benches before we lose our seats!"

"Race ya!" I teased.

"Psh. You can't beat the son of the Phantom of the Opera!" Little Erik retorted, accepting my challenge.

"Hey! Wait up you guys!" Philippe whined, realizing we had left him chanting to himself.

And so, under the thundering lights, Little Erik and I ran side by side, Philippe trailing behind us.

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"They're not back yet." Meg said worriedly, wringing her wrists.

"I'm sure they're fine." Madame Giry said knowingly.

"They probably just went to go find a better place to watch the fireworks from." Willow said with a reassuring smile.

"But why didn't they just say so?" Meg insisted.

"Because they're young…" Madame Giry and Willow chanted in unison.

"Take it from us, we're mothers." Willow continued. "Although unintentionally, worrying adults is what children do best."

"It's true. How many times did you disappear from me to go searching for your Opera Ghost?" Madame Giry recalled Meg's childhood escapades fondly.

Meg blushed. Ever since her mother had brought up the subject of her feelings for Erik, she had been unable to think about him without feeling dreadfully embarrassed. And the more she tried to rationalize her reactions, the more she realized that she _must_ be in love with Erik. All the strange things she had done were making sense now.

"Maman!" came Ann's voice from the distance, straining over the fireworks.

"Ah! There they are!" Willow waved at Ann, Little Erik, and Philippe as they came running.

"Where did you go?" Meg asked, taking a deep breath and exhaling in relief.

"Um… nowhere. Just… around." Little Erik mumbled, looking away.

"They were kissing!" Philippe announced.

"We were not!" Little Erik said angrily, grabbing Philippe by the lapel.

Philippe continued to chant, unabashed. "First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes Ann filing for divorce and demanding half of Little Erik's assets but she can't have them because they signed a prenup—" He stopped to catch his breath. "—so the entire process becomes a heated legal fight, in which, during their passionate arguing, Little Erik and Ann rediscover their love for one another and remarry! Then… something, something… baby carriage!"

Everyone stared at Philippe for a moment, taking a few steps back slowly. Even Little Erik released him, fearing that the stupidity was contagious.

"I told you no one listens to him." Ann whispered to Little Erik.

"I don't think he even listens to himself." Little Erik replied, glancing at Philippe who continued to ramble on to himself.

Well, things went on that way for a few minutes, until Madame Giry sorted things out with her cane. Then everyone sat to watch the rest of the fireworks. But suddenly, the fireworks stopped.

"Is it over?" Christine asked blankly.

"I don't think so." Raoul replied, still holding his wife close. "They usually have a grand finale; a huge spectacle of fireworks."

The gas lamps in the area suddenly flickered to life spontaneously. Everyone at the fair looked around, murmuring in confusion.

Then, in the distance, a fire could be seen heading towards the fair. Everyone strained their eyes, trying to make it out.

Misty suddenly gasped in a panic. "That isn't just a random fire!" She said, a little too loudly. "They're torches! A mob is coming!" People all around began to panic. "Oops, didn't realize I was talking out loud."

"A mob?" Willow grabbed Ann, instinctively pulling her close. "What do they want?"

By now the mob had forced their way into the fair and came marching down the path. As they approached, murderous intent written on their faces, chants could be made out. "Burn the witches!"

"Oh no!" Willow whispered to herself. "They've found us!"

All around people began to scream and run amuck. The mob was a terrifying sight, and they didn't seem to care what they destroyed, as long as it was in their path.

"Savage! What is this, the 1700s?" Raoul said indignantly. "Really! Witch hunts! In this day and age! It must be those daft British. It's always the British…"

"No time for ranting!" Madame Giry corrected the viscount with a hard clonk on the head with her cane. "We have to move. They're nearing quickly."

It was hard to get through the panicked crowd, which kept running every which way in a hazardous mess. Somehow Raoul, Christine, and Philippe managed to find Ann and made their way towards the nearest exit.

"Take good care of her, monsieur." Willow breathed, kissing her daughter on the forehead as she handed her to Raoul.

"I will guard her with my life." Raoul promised; carrying Ann in one arm and holding Christine's hand with the other, while Christine carried Philippe.

Willow watched as they retreated, infinitely grateful to the de Chagnys. Ignorant blood-thirsty mob or not, they would not challenge a Viscount.

"Hey! Stop daydreaming!" Misty yelled. Willow shook her head, snapping out of her reverie, and whirled to find Misty on a carnival horse. "We have to get out of here!" She stretched out her hand to Willow and hoisted her up on the horse as well.

Up on the horse, Misty and Willow were able to maneuver through the crowd more easily and escaped quickly.

Meg, however, was not so lucky. The mob was nearing, the hysterical crowds were becoming denser, and she could still not find Little Erik. She inwardly cursed Christine for forgetting the masked child. True, Christine had not been responsible for the child in months, but it was still her son!

"Erik!" Meg screamed through the din at the top of her lungs, but she could barely even hear herself over the crowd's hysterics. "Little Erik!" She didn't even have time to think about her mother. She had to save Little Erik!

Not too far away, Meg spotted Little Erik. But while he was close distance wise, the amount of people in the way made it nearly impossible to approach him.

Little Erik turned, eyes catching sight of Meg as well. He began to make his way through the crowd, being smaller and having more ease with weaving through people.

"No!" Meg called to him. "Stay there! I'll come to you!" While it may have been easier for Little Erik to maneuver, it was also more dangerous. Being so small he could easily be trampled. "No! Stay! I'm coming!" But Little Erik could not hear Meg's warnings over the stampede of alarmed people and continued to make his way over.

He was so close, Meg could almost reach him. He'd be alright, she just had to reach out and grab hold of him…

SLAM! A large, frightening man rammed into Little Erik, knocking him to the floor and sending his mask flying off his face.

"LITTLE ERIK!" Meg didn't care anymore. She began to shove through the crowd, regardless of who fell because of her.

Always quick to react, Little Erik shook his head and began to sit up.

The terrifying man had, amazingly, stopped. But it was not out of kindness or concern. "The Devil's Child…" the man murmured to himself. He had seen Little Erik's face!

In a flash the large gypsy man snatched Little Erik's arm and pulled him off the floor. Little Erik hung in his grip, a horrified expression on his uncovered face, vainly struggling to get free.

"Little Erik!" Meg cried, jumping forward and catching onto Little Erik in midair. She pulled him out of the surprised gypsy's grasp; wrapped her arms around the unmasked child, curling her body over his in protection, holding on with every iota of strength in her petite body.

The large man snarled furiously. "Let go my freak, you tramp!" He roared, trying to rip Meg off of what he hoped to make his new star attraction. But Meg held strong, shutting her eyes tight and refusing to ever let go, even as the large gypsy man struck her to the ground. "I said _let go_!"

Meg screamed in pain, tears leaking out of her painfully tight shut eyes. Every blow the man delivered seemed to drive her further into the dirt. Still she kept her trembling form wrapped over Little Erik, hearing his terrified wails beneath her, clinging to him for dear life. _I can't let go. No matter what, I can' let go. Even if I lose consciousness… or die! I have to keep my muscles firmly locked. I have to keep him hidden. I can't let my baby be hurt._

He punched her, slapped her, pulled at her hair with unrelenting force, but Meg would not let go. In frustration the gypsy man brandished his whip and began to lash her with an expert's skill, but Meg would not let go.

As the abuse went on, the sounds around Meg began to diminish, even her own bloodcurdling screams decreasing in volume, until she heard nothing but a dull ringing. The pain from the blows, too, began to lessen, until finally Meg felt nothing but the sensation of her body wincing instinctively.

_This is it. _Meg thought, clinging tight though she could no longer remember what it was she was trying to protect. _It's over. I'm going to die…_

But Meg was wrong. That happens a lot, apparently. But this time was special. You see, the terrifying gypsy man suddenly stopped assaulting Meg. It wasn't because he was tired, or suddenly had a change of heart, but because his neck had randomly decided to snap.

Well, not _really_ randomly. Actually, he'd been murdered.

Meg felt the thump of a body falling beside her. Bravely, she dared to open her eyes slightly. Her swollen, bruised eyes met wide, lifeless ones. The large, terrifying, gypsy man was dead. Blinking in confusion, and wincing at the pain that blinking caused her, Meg's mind slowly registered what had happened.

Meg dug her nails into Little Erik's cloak protectively and looked up. A tall, dark man with a masked visage glared back at her accusingly.

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We stood up on a hill, overlooking the fair. I cringed inwardly at the sight. So much pointless destruction…

I looked over at _the man_; the leader in this religious excuse for a blood hunt. I always found it odd that leaders, whether in wars or any other form of human violence, stayed off where it was safe while their men died under the leader's orders. But it's not my place to criticize, I suppose. After all, it's not like I'm going to _do_ anything about it.

"Well done." _The man_ said to me after a long period of silent observation, surprising me a bit. "I've had men scouting for weeks to no avail. Finally a sign of those damn witches." He turned to me, smiling in that chilling way of his. "Your report was a Godsend."

I smiled back automatically without bothering to think if I really wanted to. "It was nothing, sir. They came to _me_. I just got lucky!"

He nodded in assent and turned back to the chaos below, licking his lips as if a delicious dish had suddenly been placed before him. "They may get away in the pandemonium, but at least this ought to scare them enough so they'll start making mistakes." He brought a hand to his chin, running his fingers through his goatee pensively. Why does his type always have goatees? "Keep your eyes peeled for any sign of them."

I noticed a small, forgotten exit in the distance. A family was rushing out of it, heading for their carriage. Nothing unusual at first glance; just a man, his wife, their son, and a maid. But their maid was a familiar one. I recognized the little girl immediately.

"Any sign of them?" _The man_ asked.

"No, sir." I replied, averting my gaze from the scene to avoid suspicion.

"Ah well. You've done well, anyway." He clicked his tongue dismissively. "What would I do without you, Jayden?"

* * *

**Next Time...**

**Anis: **That's right! It is me! Baron Anis Von Alba, from the authoress' musical phic _The Shape in the Shadows_. Now I will get revenge for the crappy ending I got!

**Raoul: **I don't know. Your ending wasn't all that crappy. In fact, she left the ending pretty open to interpretation. For all we know, maybe you had the happiest ending ever.

**Anis: **SILENCE! Now go be all foppy!

**Raoul: **... I hate my life. (Walks away)

**Meanwhile...**

**Erik: **RANT RANT RANT RANT RANT RANT RANT!

**Meg: **Cry!

**Little Erik: **I'm cute! Ow, I got an owchie...

**Erik: **Let me see. There, all better. Anything else?

**Little Erik: **You could stop being such a jerkwad to Meg.

**Erik: **WHAT?

**Little Erik: **Is trrrue...

**Meg: **Cry... explain my motivations and own sad past.

**Erik: **So? My past is sadder.

**Meg: **(Faint)

**Erik: **Get up! (Kicks Meg) Whoa, wait a sec. She's not moving. Meg? Meg? MEG? Ahh! No! She can't die! Otherwise who will I blame for everything and constantly be irritable with, but only because I'm a cranky guy and am also secretly attracted to her!

**Meg: **(Opens one eye) What did you say?

**Erik: **Hey, shut up! Dead people don't talk!

**Meg: **Tch, fine. Jerkwad. (Closes eyes)

**Erik: **I am not a--I mean--Oh no! Meg!

**Tune in Next time! Same foppy time, same foppy channel!**


	33. Episode 31

**The fictional characters are lined up. the Authoress marches back and forth before them.**

**Pleading Eyes: **So then. (To Haru) What happened?

**Haru: **Hell if I know. I was busy narrating.

**Pleading Eyes: **A likely story. And you! (To Erik) Where were you on the night of the crime?

**Erik: **First of all, I'm fairly certain that the "crime" was committed during the day. Secondly, I was doing review replies.

**Pleading Eyes: **Mhm. You seem to know an awful lot for someone who claims innocence! And mister, hero, was it? (To Link) What do you know?

**Link: **I don't know anything abut what happened. I don't even know what's happening right now. All I do know is, my new game looks SWEET!

**Pleading Eyes: **Yes, of course. This "computer" you speak of, if they even do exist!

**Link: **I didn't say anything about computers... did I?

**Falco: **(Losing his patience) Oh for the love of Miyamoto! It was me!

**Everyone: **(Gasps)

**Falco: **_I _tricked Link into breaking the fourth wall! _I _convinced him to open your documents! _I _told Anis how to get into your phic!

**Pleading Eyes: **Um... Falco? I wa asking about who ate the last chocolate pudding.

**Falco: **...oh. Well, actually, that was me too.

**Pleading Eyes: **But wait--you WHAT?

**Falco: **Which is weird, because I don't really like chocolate pudding.

**Pleading Eyes: **Oh no. This could destroy everything! I mean, comparitively, Anis makes Link look like a brain surgeon!

**Link: **(Picks up butter knife) Ima gonna make da indecision now, nurse!

**Haru: **But how?

**Erik: **That kind of stupidity is almost to Raoul levels!

**Pleading Eyes: **(Darkly) No. Not at all. It's far, far worse.

**Erik: **Worse than the fop? How is that even possible?

**Haru: **What will become of My Father, the Fop?

**Pleading Eyes: **It's all in the readers' hands now.

**Falco: **Speaking of which, you should probably do review replies. They're the only reason anyone reads these stupid before-story-segments, you know.

**Pleading Eyes: **Heh, heh. Right.

------Review Replies------

**Kory Andola: **Thank you so much for your review! I'm so glad that you like my story! My whole purpose is to make my readers laugh (and on occasion, cry). I'm the same way with reviews, checking them everyday to see if I got any. And your words really made me smile. Thank you!

**Lady Willow Rose: **Oh my, I hope Ann's alright. Little Erik still denies the kiss though. (Rolls eyes) Boys! Anyway, I'm sorry that you can't get revenge on the man who scared Ann, since Erik already punjabbed him. Ah well, either way he got what he deserved. Jayden is a most... interesting fellow, isn't he? I mean, first he reports your location to the witch hunters, but then lets you get away. Even I'm not sure what his motivations are! He's got a life of his own, I say!

**For The Love Of Sugar: **Whoa, blondie. Lay off the sugar there. XD

**Just Plain Insane: **AHH! MUSES! Wait! I'll send my insane homocidal muses after you! Then we'll have an all out battle of the muses, in a literal, non-metaphoric way! Also, Erik got really flustered when you called him Ewik, but he said he'd see what he could do about procuring you some sweets!

**rhiready: **Actually, the person in the cage is of no significant importance to the story. They were more of a plot device to introduce Jayden. (Jayden: Hiya) So, I don;t know who was in the cage. Probably just another poor soul being forced on display as Erik was. It's sad but maybe we can assume that ,whoever they are, they got away during the mob's rampage.

**gavvie: **Ahaha! That happens to me all the time. I hear or read something funny, and then my brother comes home and he's like "Right..." Anyway, I'm glad you liked that! That chant used to bug me so much when I was little! So now poor Little Erik has to suffer through it too XD.

**Killer Queen 1118: **Aww, Lulita? I have a new nickname! Loves it. Yes! Living in your basement, laughing maniaclly at odd hours of the night. Sounds like the life for me! Imagine me trying to compose on the little electric keyboard, when I can barely play Twinkle Twinle Little Star. (Huggles Gerik plushie) Gewik ish mah bisshy! Much love!

**Tsunami Wave: **I still love your penname. Anyway, aww. Angry!angsty Erik is just so adorable! Makes me want to give him a hard smack on the head, but then huggle him! Thank you for your review! I'm glad the chapter made you giggle! It's what I aim for, after all.

------Review Replies------

**Pleading Eyes: **There, done!

**Falco: **Hey, can I do them next time?

**Pleading Eyes: **No way! You'll just sabotage them!

**Falco: **... can I do them next time?

**Pleading Eyes: **Didn't you just say that?

**Falco: **Yes.

**Pleading Eyes: **Aw, okay!

**Episode 31**

The fourth wall has been broken. Such an atrocity has never occurred in this phic. I mean, sure, Misty Breyer and Willow Rose walk back and forth through it all the time, but they never actually do any real damage!

Ah, some of you out there may not know what the _fourth wall_ is? Well, it's not just a wall; accompanied by at least three other walls. No. No, the fourth wall is a literary term. Now, I realize many of you out there may know this already, so bear with me as I explain to those who may need enlightening.

In theatre, the Fourth Wall is a term to describe the invisible wall between the audience and the actors on-stage. In other words, there is no actual wall. But the actors act as if they can't see the audience, as if there was a 'wall' there.

Whenever a character, whether in theatre or in literature, addresses or in any way acknowledges the audience (or the fact that they are in a story) they are breaking the fourth wall.

Now I hope that wasn't too confusing. Moving on…

The fourth wall has been BROKEN! Yes, my friends. And due to such breakage of said literary device, a character from another one of the authoress' phics has entered My Father, the Fop.

Meet the Baron Anis Von Alba. He is a character from _The Shape in the Shadows_; a musical sequel to the 2004 Phantom movie. That's right, a musical. With original songs and what-not.

Anyway, Anis was very disappointed with the ending he got. Actually, the ending was rather open to interpretation. But Anis isn't the sharpest tool in the shed, nor the brightest crayon in the box, thus he's not very good an interpreting anything that isn't blatantly obvious. So Anis felt that he should escape from his story and seek revenge on the authoress by ruining her current phic.

And this is how Baron Anis Von Alba found himself roaming the streets of Paris. But the streets were different here than they were back in his phic. Back in his phic they were all more realistic and bitter-sweet. Here everything was more colorful and random jokes kept popping up at inappropriate times!

Not to mention that everyone burst into song at random, but that happened in the other phic too since it was a musical.

"I have a lovely singing voice by the way!"

Shut up, Anis.

Now where were we? Ah, yes. Anis patrolled the streets with a small excitement beginning to build in his chest. He had never been evil before. And now, here he was! He was so giddy he could practically bounce on his toes and clap his hands while giggling.

So he did.

After the shocked bystanders stopped staring and went about their business, Anis set out to find something _evil_ he could do. But of course, having no experience and not being particularly bright, Anis had some trouble.

"Well, if only my man-slave—I mean servant—was here! Efrian always knew what to do! And if he didn't, I just ordered him to know!"

And as if by magic, Efrian suddenly appeared before his young master's eyes.

"What the hell…?" Spoke a heavily accented Spanish voice.

"Efrian! You're here! Now you can bend to my every whim, just like the good ol' days!"

"… God dammit."

Efrian was a middle-aged man, and quite a deal more intelligent than Anis; though that wasn't saying much. Like his master; he was of Spanish origin and highly superstitious. Both he and Anis wore pendants of the evil eye to ward off evil spirits and such. Also they did hand signals to ward off evil and never stepped on cracks or crossed black cats and stuff.

"What am I doing here?" Efrian asked, annoyed by his predicament. "I'm supposed to be dead. The Phantom killed me at the end of ACT I."

"Way to spoil it, Efrian!" Anis complained with a huff.

"Oh please, like no one saw _that_ coming. And my question remains valid!"

"Meh." Anis said with a careless shrug. "I guess I picked you out from a chapter before you died."

Efrian sighed, remembering it was his sworn duty to obey the young Baron. Also, his paychecks had stopped coming once he died, and he still needed to pay off the loan on his new servant's shed.

"Very well, sir. How may I be of assistance?"

"Efrian, I need to do something evil!"

"Evil, sir?"

"Yes, evil!" Anis said, gesturing wildly for no apparent reason. "I mean, with that whole vague ending, I don't even know if I won Meg or not! Did we get married? Was that our daughter who walks by at the end?"

"It's possible sir, though personally I'd like to think that she remained loyal to the Phantom, even if they didn't hook up."

"Oh, you E/M shippers!" Anis said, smacking Efrian over the head. "And anyway, that's not important. Since towards the end of the story I realize that I only liked Meg because my mother was a French ballet dancer and I have serious mommy issues."

"Just like Christine with her father! You two should hook up!" Efrian suggested.

"No way, man! I'm not here to do the whole _charming teenage Baron_ routine again." Anis began to gesture wildly for no apparent reason, again. "I'm here to be a villain on the warpath for revenge!"

"Very good, sir." Efrian said with a sigh. "But lease devote yourself this time. Negligence leads to disaster. Like the time you had a pet goldfish and you stopped paying attention to it so it died."

Anis sniffled at the memory. "Poor, poor Bubble-cheeks. But anyway!" He suddenly brightened, remembering his mission. "Something evil. Any suggestions?"

"Well, just look around you, Master Von Alba." Efrian directed Anis' attention to the people walking around them in the Parisian streets.

Anis observed as Efrian pointed out various possible victims.

An old lady stood nearby, trying to keep all her purchases from falling while struggling to close a swelled money pouch.

Beside Anis stood a little boy, fondly admiring the large, bright, yellow balloon tied loosely to his wrist and licking an enormous swirly lollipop.

On the edge of the sidewalk sat an adorable little puppy and an equally adorable kitten, side by side, just ready for the kicking.

And not too far in front of Anis was a woman, whose eyes were currently off of her baby carriage which overlooked a hill.

"As you can see, milord," Efrian concluded, "there are a plethora of misdoings to choose from."

Anis looked back and forth between his choices, biting at his index nail. "Oh... there's so many! I don't know which one to choose!" He began to fidget like an agitated child, waiting for someone to make a decision for him.

Efrian sighed. "Just _pick_ one. They're all pretty messed up."

"Oh… I don't know. Decisions, decisions. My whole evil career is depending on this. My defining moment as a villain is in the first impression! I have to be careful… but which choice is the right one? How am I supposed to know? Stop badgering me! I hate you!" Anis whined, his anxiety increasing with every sentence.

"It doesn't matter. Just do _something_ so we can get this inane scene done with! _Anything_!" Efrian said, exasperated.

"Um... erm… WAGH!" Anis cried, punching Efrian in the stomach and knocking him to the ground. "Serves you right for pressuring me like that!" he said, looking down at his winded servant.

"Very… good sir." Efrian coughed out. "I mean… evil." He grimaced.

"Evil?" Anis said, the reality of his actions sinking in. "Yes, it _was_ evil, wasn't it? I punched my own ally! I'm a downright jerk!"

"Yes, Baron." Efrian heaved himself up, wobbling slightly, still struggling to reclaim his breath.

"Oh goodie!" Anis giggled, striking a victory pose, complete with a gleam of his perfect smile. "Victory!"

"Well, at least the story has an antagonist now." Efrian sighed to himself.

"And now to beat that Phantom at his own game! Fight fire with evil fire! I'm going to…" Anis puffed up his chest, already impressed by his brilliant scheme for revenge, "write a strongly worded note!"

Efrian only hung his head, starting to wish that he really _had_ died.

"Geez, Efrian. Talk about ANGSTY!"

Shut up, Anis.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

As Erik carried us into a cab he had waiting. As soon as I sat, I realized how much my body burned in pain. I bit my lip to prevent myself from whimpering; through I couldn't help the tears still streaming down my face.

Little Erik rook my hand, rubbing it comfortingly. He was such as sweet child.

Across from us Erik sat fuming. I began to say something, but he ordered me to remain quiet. I didn't argue. I was in too much pain.

When we arrived, Erik turned to pay the driver. The driver gave him an odd look, wondering why someone would want to be left at the ruins of the Opera House, but seemed to forget all his suspicions as Erik filled the driver's hands with gold.

Erik grabbed hold of both Little Erik and me, pulling us out of the carriage roughly. He said nothing as the carriage rode away, remained silent as he dragged us down into the darkness of his world. But the truth is, he didn't have to say a word. The rage in his expression said it all.

Once in his lair, Erik suddenly threw me to the floor, without warning. I reacted quickly, instinctively putting my hands out in front of me to catch myself. Unfortunately, my left arm scraped against the sharp edge of a fallen candelabrum, slicing the skin on my arm open. I hit the floor with a scream of pain.

My scream was drowned out, however, by Erik grating voice. "How dare you!" He thundered, his voice echoing off the cavern walls, almost god-like, or perhaps demon-like. "What right do you have to place _my_ son in such danger? What is worse, you defied _my_ orders!"

"Erik, p-please!" I tried to beg him, cradling my bleeding arm, sobbing so hard I could not even speak clearly.

"Lying, conniving, back-stabbing _whore_!" He shouted, pulling me up by my hair. I cried out in pain, but I doubt he even heard it. "I can't possibly fathom what you hope to gain by having me engage in this little game of yours, but I won't have anymore of it!" He shook me, his grip still on my hair, and then tossed me across the room.

I flew across the room like a rag doll, landing on my scarred back which seared in agony to protest.

Erik did not even give me a moment to catch my breath before stalking over to me, hovering over me like a predator does his prey.

I looked up at him, barely distinguishable through my tears. He looked like nothing more than a blurred shadow, ready to swallow me whole into the darkness. Only his eyes stood out, those inconsistently blue or green orbs, which always contained that enchanting gold. Between my tears and my own trembling, the gold in his eyes seemed to sparkle and shine; like two stars beside each other in the sky.

_Misplaced stars, where the sun and the moon can never reach…_

I'd been wrong. The glimmer on the cavern walls were not the stars. It was not my mission to stay here, in this darkness. It was this man, with eyes like stars, who banished himself underground where the sun and moon could never reach, who was my destiny. Oh, why did I love such a man? Such a _monster_!

He reached down to take hold of me once again. I squealed in advance, knowing this would hurt terribly. But Erik suddenly stopped.

"Stop it, Papa!" Little Erik cried out fervently, pulling back on his father's sleeve with all his strength. "Just stop it! Can't you see you're killing her?"

Erik froze, as if my mortality hadn't crossed his mind, and turned to his son.

"She saved my life!" Little Erik wailed, tears pouring down his cheeks and soaking both his shirt and Erik's sleeve he held. "That bad man kept hitting her, but she wouldn't let him have me! She wouldn't let me go! Even when he used the whip…" Little Erik's voice broke. He buried his face in his father's arm, bawling his little heart out.

Erik shifted, bringing Little Erik's face into his chest and holding him there with one arm wrapped around his little frame. Little Erik continued to cry. "Don't you _ever_ disobey me again!" Erik snapped, though his expression had softened. "Don't you understand how worried I was? You could have been hurt!"

"I'm so-o-orry!" Little Erik wailed desperately, his voice muffled by his father's shirt.

Given the opportunity, I began to sit up. My entire body ached defiantly, and my injured arm suddenly flared painfully, forcing me to cry out against my better judgment.

Erik's attention turned back to me. He still appeared absolutely livid, but he took a deep breath and calmed himself. Gently, he scooped Little Erik into his arms and disappeared into Little Erik's bedroom.

I tried to hurry while I was still alone. I managed to stand, though I had to bite my lip until it bled. I had never known so much physical pain. Sure, I had sprained my ankle before and pulled muscles. Yes, on occasion, I suffered mild womanly cramps. But nothing I had ever experienced ever hurt like this.

I took a few slow, unsteady steps forward; only to find myself tripping over the carpet beneath me and falling. I, again, tried to catch myself, but the weight of my body was too much for my injured arm and I shrieked in piercing agony before falling on my face. The floor was cold and hard beneath my cheek. Cradling my arm, I let myself just lie there and cry; thinking I would never get up.

A few minutes passed. My tears passed, but the pain refused to let up. My back and my arm were throbbing. The edges of my mind were gradually becoming hazy and I felt the blackness beckoning to me. It would be so easy… to just fall asleep…

I closed my eyes, careless of how rapidly my arm was bleeding, of how much blood I had lost and continued to lose. With my eyes closed, everything was dark around me. I was alone.

Warm hands wrapped around me, pulling me gently into a pair of strong arms. I felt myself being carried and the haziness fogging my mind began to recede.

I opened my eyes slowly, trying to make sense of what I was seeing.

Erik…

He placed me on a chair with surprising care and gentility. I blinked at him sluggishly, my mind coming back to me.

"Little Erik?" I asked softly, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Asleep." Erik replied blankly, not looking me in the face. "Stay put." He stood and left them room, silent as the specter he had so long pretended to be.

I looked down at my arm, gasping at the sight of bloodied skin, ripped open from below my wrist to the crook of my elbow. I could see the muscle inside and felt my world beginning to spin.

Erik returned then, a box and a basin in his hands. He placed both objects on the floor, kneeling before me and retrieving a cloth from the water-filled basin. Gingerly, he wiped the cloth over the split in my arm. I cried, the pain excruciating, and tried to snatch my arm away. But Erik held me firm, still cleaning the wound with precision and care.

When he was satisfied, he placed the blood-soaked cloth back in the basin; the water turning crimson immediately. He then opened the box and reached in, hesitating.

"Look away." He instructed, his voice still as unreadable as his expression.

I worried for a moment, wondering what horrible torture technique he might consider punishment for disobedience, but then did as he said, fearing I'd incur his wrath further by disobeying him again.

I felt a sudden prick in my skin and jumped in my seat. Erik grabbed my shoulder with his free hand, still refusing to look me in the face, and steadied me.

I caught sight of what he was doing and nearly wretched. He had threaded a needle and was sewing up my skin. Stitches were not torture; they were a real medical procedure. But the pain was unbearable and the memory of how he had nearly killed me moments prior only put me more ill at ease.

Yet my fear contrasted to sharply with how tenderly he attended to my injury. His grip on me was firm but gentle, and as he sewed up my arm, he carefully massaged parts he had already finished; soothing the pain as best he could.

He was trying to help me while inflicting the minimal amount of pain he could. He was being kind…

Perhaps he had forgiven me, then. And if so, then it was only right that I forgave his anger. I swallowed hard and bit my lip once more; trying to be brave, trying to be strong, and putting all my will into staying still.

Finally he finished, clipping the excess thread, and lightly caressing his suture.

The pain in my arm had decreased considerably, and without the discomfiting sight of bloodied tissue, I felt myself stable emotionally as well.

We sat there for a while; Erik continued to nurse my arm, kneeling in front of me. I could only watch his movements, wondering how this gentle man could be the same raging murderer from not too long ago.

He sighed and moved his hand to grasp my other arm, checking it for wounds as well. When he found none, Erik let his hand slide down to my own hand, and held it soothingly.

Erik looked up at me, staring me in the face for the first time since he had thrown me on the floor. His face remained impassive, but his eyes shined turbulently. My eyes locked with his, unable to move away, fixated on him.

I couldn't tell for sure, but it seemed to me that Erik was as trapped in our gaze as I was. His grip on my hand tightened slightly, and slowly he began to lean towards me.

In a panic, I realized what was happening. The image of him towering over me like his prey flared up in my mind and before I could decide how to react, I turned my face away; his lips meeting my cheek instead.

He drew away, snatching his hand out of mine, and stood up, muttering a curse under his breath.

I watched him as he walked away from me, my mind begging him to return, my body aching for his comfort. There was no lust burning in me at the moment, I was too pained. But I yearned so poignantly for his gentle embrace. I just wanted him to hold me. I was only human, I needed to be held!

Once he was a safe distance from me, Erik leaned against the wall tiredly. His sudden aloofness hit me like a slap in the face. Mere seconds ago he had tried to kiss me. Had my apparent rejection pushed him away? But how else had he expected me to react? He had nearly _killed_ me!

I lightly traced the stitches on my arm, wishing for that tender man to return. Wishing for another chance, this time I wouldn't reject him. I would never again reject him!

Erik sighed. I waited with baited breath to see what he would say.

"Leave." he said simply.

I opened my mouth to protest, but he continued. "Please, Marguerite. Just… go." It was the please that got me. He had never asked anything of me, he had only ordered it. The please almost made it a plea.

How could I deny him?

I stood. I thanked god that my legs were well enough and that my dizziness had passed. Without a word I walked passed Erik, without even stealing a final glance at him, and left.

Remembering the path down which Raoul had led Little Erik and me, I made my way out of the catacombs. I pushed aside the grate and climbed out into the street.

Although, even at night, the outside world seemed less dark, it was also so much colder. The frosty wind nipped at my skin, warning of a coming rain. Perhaps even snow. The air smelt damp enough. I was suddenly furious with myself for not bringing a coat.

I hugged myself desperately. Where would I go? I could go home, but would my mother be there? I hadn't even checked to see if she had made it out of the fair. Maybe Erik was right. Maybe I was a bad person.

I rubbed my hands up and down my arms for warmth, wincing at the sting of pain that shot through my back and my recently sutured left arm. I could feel the prick of coming tears in my eyes. Stubbornly I blinked them back. I had to stop crying so much! I wasn't Christine, for crying out loud!

But that was just the trouble, wasn't it? I wasn't Christine…

I looked around me at the darkness, dispelled every now and then by a few street lights. But mostly there was darkness and cold. I shivered and held myself tighter, my wounds throbbing from the cold and from my exertions.

I decided I didn't want to go home. Not yet anyway. Instead I turned around and fled into the ruins of the Opera Populair; as if they would protect me from whatever it was that was making me so irrationally afraid. But afraid of _what_?

Afraid of the darkness? Afraid of the cold? Afraid of returning home? Afraid of… _losing Erik_. My mind answered for me.

I wandered around the charred and broken wreck that had once been a place of splendor. Splintered wood and shattered glass were everywhere. Ashes lingered in the air wherever I disturbed them.

And yet somehow it still all felt so familiar.

_Stars_. I thought. _Misplaced stars in his eyes._

I shook my head, trying to ward off any such thoughts. They were just tea leaves, for goodness sake! They didn't really mean anything! And despite whatever illusion, there were no _real_ stars underground!

As if to prove the point to myself, I found my feet leading me to roof.

The stairs were unusable, of course. They had been burned and broken, falling apart. But part of the roof had also caved in; leaving charred wooden panels and crumbling concrete blocks under the part that remained up. With caution I climbed up the mess, carefully curling my fingers around the concrete to pull my self up, as my feet walked up the inclined planks.

I had no idea how I was going to get down, but at that moment it hardly mattered.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

I sighed heavily, hating myself. Why had I made her leave? I hadn't meant it, and even as I watched her go I felt myself regret it.

So why hadn't I stopped her?

Because she had gone willingly. I hadn't forced her to leave. I had kept my voice calm and reasonable, and she had not even argued. She just left, without even one final glance back in my direction.

_Merde._

She couldn't go! I couldn't take care of the child myself! I could hardly handle the boy, and what if I flew into another fit of rage? Who would protect him then? She had to come back! She had to care for the boy. My son needed the love of a mother; otherwise he could very well end up like me.

That would be the worst that fate could bestow upon him. Little Erik deserved better than this. He deserved better than me.

But then why had I asked her to leave?

_For her own good..._

Damn her 'own good' to hell! Why should Little Erik have to suffer simply because I could not control myself? Even as disgusted by her as I was, my body refused to abandon the desire to take her.

It was inevitable, wasn't it? I was only a man. One who had been starved of _any_ sort of carnal joys. Even simple pleasures like a kiss or an embrace had been denied me. So how could I blame myself for wanting Marguerite when she put herself in constant contact with me; when she—of her own accord—pressed herself against me and lavished my skin with her lips?

I hadn't wanted to force her. I couldn't bear the thought of muffling her screams as I invaded her essence. But neither could I bear to look at her, to have her so close, and not be allowed to touch her.

I pounded my fist against the cavern wall, letting the stab of pain ring through my knuckles and up my hand. Why was this sort of pain so much easier to tolerate?

I had to go outside. Perhaps the cool night air would alleviate my ardor.

It was beginning to snow. As I made my way to what remained of the Opera House rooftop, little delicate puffs of snow began to fall. Excellent. The colder, the better.

I was expecting the blackness of the dark, and complete silence but for the thoughts in my head. Both expectations were scrapped. Standing the remaining roof, near the ledge and in front of the stature of Apollo's Lyre, stood a pale young woman, garbed in white. She stood out severely against the darkness, her blonde curls bright and absorbent of the meager light around her. _Marguerite…_

What was she doing here? Hadn't I sent her away? Granted I hadn't specified _where_ she should go, but I thought leaving the Opera House was a given!

I move quickly and silently behind the statue, watching her with curio, trying to pick out any small detail or gesture that might grant me insight as to her incentives.

Impossibly, leaning onto the over the edge and scanning her eyes over the dark Parisian streets below, she began to sing.

"_Hands touch. Eyes meet. Sudden silence! Sudden heat…  
Hearts leap in a giddy whirl. _

_He could be that boy… but I'm not that girl." _

She shivered, holding herself for warmth. I moved forward to get a better look.

"_Don't wish. Don't start. Wishing only wounds the heart.  
Don't remember that rush of joy…  
He could be that boy. But I'm not that girl!"_

Who was she talking about? She turned suddenly, surprising me, and forcing me to duck out of sight. She began to dance back and forth across the edge of the rooftop. She was as graceful as ever when it came to her dancing, though I could tell she was in pain as she did so.

"_Every so often we long to steal, to land of what might have been!  
But that doesn't soften the ache we feel  
When reality sets back in…"_

She stopped, finishing on one foot, her other leg stretched out behind her, her arms reaching out in front of her. It was such a longing pose. But why? For what?

Marguerite straightened, standing and holding her left arm, caressing the stitching. Her voice took such a sorrowful tone now.

"_Blithe smile. Lithe limb. She who's winsome… she wins him  
Lush hair with a gorgeous curl…  
That's the girl he chose.  
And heaven knows  
I'm not that girl…"_

Blithe smile? Lithe limb? Winsome woman with lush, gorgeous curls? I'd recognize that description anywhere. _Christine… _

The snow was beginning to pile on the ground, casting the illusion of a cloud. A white, blonde little Marguerite seemed so much like an angel; dancing on the clouds. Dancing and… sobbing?

Little Marguerite, it seemed, had fallen for a man who did not or could not love her. A man whose heart was taken by Christine. But who?

The answer hit me like a blow to the chest. _Raoul de Chagny…_

It had to be. Who else but the revoltingly charming young Viscount? Rage bubbled in me. No, he couldn't have her! He had already taken my Christine, my angel, my love! He could not have my little dancer too!

I clenched my fists, realizing the force with which my possessiveness came. Since when had I held any claims on Marguerite? I didn't even like the ballet rat! I only tolerated her for the sake of Little Erik and for what I owed her mother. But then why did the idea of the de Chagny boy placing his filthy hands on Marguerite fill me with so much enmity? Why did it make me want to run out of hiding, snatch up Marguerite, and carry her back down to my lair?

Marguerite took a shuddering breath, bringing me out of my thoughts. I looked back. She had turned to face the ledge again, though her eyes now seemed focused on the stars above. Her voice wavered, but she continued.

"_Don't dream too far. Don't lose sight of who you are.  
I wasn't born for the rose and the pearl.  
There's a girl I know  
He loves her so  
But I'm not… that girl…"_

No, she most certainly was not Christine. But neither was she the wife of the de Chagny brat. If she wanted to leave, wanted to go off and pursue _him_, then so be it. I didn't care. I really didn't. I _refused_ to care! She wasn't Christine. She wasn't Christine…

"Marguerite…" I said softly, coming out of hiding. She whirled around, eyes wide and panicked, before she found me.

"Erik… how long have you been standing there?" She said, bowing her head and averting her vision.

"Long enough." I answered curtly. She licked her lips and nodded her head, turning back around to face the ledge.

"Then… you know. How I feel, I mean."

"You've made it embarrassingly clear." I snapped, moving to stand beside her.

She bit her lip. She had been doing that an awful lot as of late. If she didn't watch it, it would become an irritating habit.

"Don't you have anything to say about it?" She asked quietly, looking down at how high up we really were.

Anything to say about what? Her lip-biting? Oh, the song. "You have a dreadful singing voice."

Marguerite laughed humorlessly. "I meant about my feelings."

I scoffed, but replied anyway. "I am both surprised and repulsed by them." I honestly had thought she would have had better taste than the fop.

Her hands tightened on the ledge. "I see…" she said, more to herself than to me.

A silence settled between us. Neither of us tried to look at the other. The snow continued to fall, becoming heavier. After a while I forgot she was even there, lost in my thoughts on how many ways I could kill that damned fop.

"I'm not a whore." Her sudden declaration reminded me of her presence. I looked at her, not quite sure why she had said such a thing. What concern of mine was it? "If that's why you are so… _repulsed_ by me, then know it isn't true."

"Oh, isn't it?" I shook my head.

"I know my actions as of late say otherwise. But please, please believe me when I say that I'm not usually like that!" She turned to me, one hand to her chest, the other still clutching the ledge.

"Oh, don't fret mademoiselle." I said sardonically. "I didn't need to experience your tendencies first hand to know what you are."

She bowed her head, her lips twisting into grimace. "Rumors are nasty things…" She murmured, then snapped her head up to look me accusingly in the eyes. "You of all people should know that!"

"It's hardly the same—" I began, but she interrupted.

"It's exactly the same!" She looked away again, up at the stars. "You don't even know, do you? For once, the infamous _Phantom of the Opera_ does not know what went on in his theatre!"

I narrowed my eyes in annoyance and slight intrigue. "What are you going on about now, Marguerite?"

She smiled bitterly to herself, not facing me, but seeming to calm. "You remember monsieur Lefevre, don't you?"

I nodded, but she did not look. Still, she continued.

"I was very young. I knew little of men and nothing of love. But I was still old enough to have a body worth noticing, I suppose. Blooming into womanhood. Somehow, I caught the manager's eye. He approached me one day after practice, on a rare time when I was away from Maman, and stated his… _interest_ in me. I didn't want to, of course. I was still so young. But I was afraid. For while monsieur Lefevre never straight out threatened to fire my mother and myself if I did not comply, he did go out of his way to make in clear that he _could_."

I stopped and stared at her. She was still smiling. How could she be smiling? He hadn't… _forced_ her? Had he? How had I not known about this? How could I have failed to protect Madame Giry's only daughter?

I knew why. There was no reason to deceive myself after the damage had already been done. I hadn't paid any mind to little Giry. I had been preoccupied with nurturing Christine's voice.

"He taught me how to please a man, but the focus was always on him. I never understood how some of the older ballet tarts could speak of their exploits with their lovers so fondly. I didn't find anything enjoyable about it. I began to regard the situation as a duty, just as dance rehearsal. Shortly after, thought, Lefevre tired of me and moved onto another ballet rat or chorus girl. I was neither disappointed nor relived. I really didn't know how to feel about it."

She began to choke up, her voice sounding forced and constricted.

"Somehow, some of the other dancers found out. I don't know how but from the on, whenever I earned myself a descent part, the other dancers would begin to talk of how I had slept with the manager or some patron to get it."

Tears were forming in her eyes, yet her smile only widened. The image disturbed me.

"At first I tried to fight the rumors, but the more I denied them the more popular they became. And my mother, oh Maman, she thought they were just lies spread by jealous rivals. Whenever she heard a dancer speak of such things, she punished them for lying. She didn't know there was any truth behind the rumors. She didn't know, and she still doesn't know that her little girl is _tainted_."

She spat the final word with such disdain. Guilt washed over me all at once. All those times I had called her a whore, thinking nothing of it. Why hadn't she told me? Why had she let me mistreat her like that?

"I'm not pure." She said, lowering her gaze down to the floor. "I'm not beautiful and innocent like Christine. I'm not virginal like Christine was when you fell in love with her. But…" she trailed off, swallowing back her tears. "But I feel, just like any other person. I love, just as she does."

Her tears began to fall then, unabated, and she sunk to her knees, hugging herself as she wept. "I'm not a whore!" she cried, doubling over in her private misery. "I'm not! I'm not!"

I couldn't handle the sight of her there. It was too painful, especially since I knew I was the cause of her unhappiness. I should have protected Madame Giry's daughter, I owed it to her. I should not have spoken so ill of her or flung insults at her face. Not after all she had done for my son. Not after the acceptance she had shown for my face.

But what could I do? Could I even comfort her? What right did I have to touch her? A monster like me should not place his arms around a beautiful girl, especially not one who loved another.

I backed away, wanting so desperately to do something but powerless to help her. Her hair, mussed around her head and splayed out like a halo, snowflakes catching in her golden locks, gave the impression that she was glowing.

I turned and ran. I stopped just below the entrance to the roof, catching my breath. The sight of her weeping as if tormented by hell, and yet glowing so heavenly, burned in my mind.

I groaned, bringing a gloved hand to my face. Why…? Why, why, why? It was all I could think, why? Why did she have to suffer? Why did Little Erik have to be born with such a face? Why, for all my genius, couldn't I do anything about it? Not a damned thing!

_You could… apologize. _My mind said softly.

No. No I could not. What good would it do? I could not change the past, however much I wished to! I could not bring her comfort, could not make the Viscount love her.

I gasped at my own thoughts. If the Viscount came to love her, if he wanted her, would I give her up?

_No! Never!_

Even if it would end her suffering?

_I… I can't! Not that I want to hurt her but… I can't…_

Even if it would bring her happiness, as I never could?

_I… would try. But, what if I tried and I still couldn't let her go? _

Why did I even care? It was guilt, I realized. She had been broken. The little dancing blonde angel had been brought down to hell, and I was to blame.

Shame, that's what it was. I was ashamed. As if I needed another reason to hate myself.

_Selfish beast! This isn't about you! It's _her_ pain. Other people have needs as well, you know! Really, you're no better than that bastard manager._

My hand slid from my face as I gasped. Marguerite! I had left her up there in the snow without so much as a coat! I had been so preoccupied with my regret that I had forgotten!

I clambered back up to the roof as quickly as I could. How long had I left her up there? How long had I stood below, pitying myself? I had lost complete track of time!

I climbed up onto the rooftop, standing. Everything was blanketed it snow. No sign of Marguerite anywhere. She had to be here, I would have seen her go.

Then, crouched and covered in the snow, nearly undistinguishable, sat a little blonde angel. "Marguerite!" I whispered, hurrying over to kneel beside her. I cupped her cheek—ice cold—and lifted her face so I could see her.

Her pretty, full lips had turned a lovely but frightening violet. She was trembling all over, deathly pale but tinged with blue. Her eyes were shut loosely, as if she was asleep.

She had passed out from the cold. She could die.

"Marguerite!" I shouted, shaking her, desperately trying to rouse her. She would not wake. "Marguerite!" I took her into my arms, bringing my cape around her. I had to move fast. It could already be too late.

No, Marguerite was strong. She wasn't as delicate as my little flower Christine. Marguerite was as enduring as her mother. She would be fine; I just had to make haste.

I held her close, trying to infuse her chilled body with my own warmth, as I hurried back to my lair. Her shivers were so violent! Her muscles would be sore if she woke.

_When she wakes. Not if,_ I told myself repeatedly.

I took the shortest route back, running into the lair. Without a thought I dashed into the sitting room, laying her on the settee and pulling it over to the fireplace. I covered her with my cloak, tucking it under her, and turned to light a fire.

I worked as quickly as possible, disregarding any noise I made. The clatter woke Little Erik, who walked into the sitting room with a yawn.

"What's going on?" He asked, rubbing his tired eyes with his tiny fists.

"Bring me a basin with hot water! And a clean cloth! And blankets!" I ordered immediately.

"But why…" His eyes widened fearfully, catching sight of Marguerite. "Meg? What happened? Is she alright? Meg, wake up!"

"She'll be fine!" I snapped; there was no time for explanations. "Just do as I say!"

Little Erik said no more and hurried off to fetch the supplies.

I knelt beside the settee, removing my gloves and brushing her forehead. Her skin was scalding to the touch! A fever…

Her breathing was labored, impeded by her brutal shivering. I reached under my cloak and took one of her hands. Her body was freezing! I had to warm her!

Little Erik ran in, placing the basin and blankets beside me. He looked so afraid and I could make out the beginnings of tears.

"She's going to be alright? Papa, please. Is she going to be alright?"

I reached in and took the cloth. The water was hot enough. I wrung out the excess water and placed the cloth on her forehead. Beside me, Little Erik continued to panic.

"Yes." I said, not taking my eyes off of Marguerite. "She'll be fine. I'm taking care of her." Little Erik stilled, but I could feel his desire to say more. "What?" I said harshly, annoyed by his alarm.

"You promise she'll be alright? Don't lie to me!"

I sighed, stoking the fire. "I'll do all I can."

"Swear it!" he said, stomping his little foot with sudden tenacity. "Swear that you'll do everything in your power! No matter what! _Everything_!"

I turned to look at the boy. Tears shined in his eyes, even as he looked upon me with a mix of both anger and dependence.

"I swear it." I whispered, my voice choking on the words.

Little Erik nodded, seeming somewhat satisfied. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Not right now." I replied, spreading the thick blankets over her. "I have to warm her, and quick. She's much too cold."

"I could try!" Little Erik said with determination. "I could go under the blankets with her and try to warm her!"

The idea was an intelligent one, but there was one fatal flaw. Little Erik was much too small. He would not be able to produce enough heat to warm Marguerite in time. No, we needed someone taller and broader chested.

Someone like me…

"Go to bed." I said, trying to sound reassuring. "That's what you can do now. That way I only have to concern myself with one of you."

"But Meg—"

"I'll do everything in my power." I interjected. "I already swore it. No go, there's no time to argue."

He balled his little fists but nodded, however reluctantly, and went left to his room.

Alone, I looked down at Marguerite's still trembling form. She wasn't warming up fast enough! I would have to…

But it was too strange! Too awkward! I couldn't!

I had to! She could die!

Before I could convince myself otherwise, I moved Marguerite aside and lay beside her. I pulled the cloak and blankets over both of us, wrapping my arms around her waist. She was so small.

I had never realized just how tiny Marguerite was. Stretched against me, her back pressed into my chest, I felt as if I could envelop her with my body. How could such a brave and stubborn person be so tiny?

I had never held a woman like this before. And even as frigid as her skin was to the touch, I marveled at how perfectly she seemed to meld against my flesh. It felt so natural, despite how unnatural the circumstances really were.

She would not stop shivering! As tightly as I held her, as thick as the blankets were, as strongly as the fire blazed, she continued to tremor!

I held her tightly, burying my face in her hair, praying to the God I did not believe in that she would live. If she died I… I didn't know what I'd do.

I… I cared for her so much. I wasn't _in love_ with her, but I did love her. I hadn't realized it before. I had been so preoccupied with making myself hate her, that I hadn't noticed how dear she had become to me.

I felt tears spring to my eyes. Why did it always have to end like this? Whenever I finally found someone I cared for, who I thought might care for me as well, I lost them. And to make matters worse, I lost them through my own actions! It was my fault.

I clung to Marguerite desperately, taking in the scent of her hair, praying and hoping and praying even more. I needed her. She had always been so warm. How could she be so cold now, in my arms?

"Please, Marguerite." I whispered against her ear. "Please, my little Meg. My dear, beautiful, simple Meg. Come back. I promise to treat you as you deserve. I promise to be kind. Just stay here… don't leave me."

And in my labyrinth, were night is blind, I held Marguerite close and dared not let go, ever.

* * *

**Next Time... **

**Meg: **(Yawn) What a night! I dreamt that this tall, dark, and sexy man was holding me! Eep! So awesome! I can't wait to tell-(noticed Erik next to her) AHH!

**Erik: **Five more minutes...

**Meg: **What happened?

**Erik: **(Wakes up) Huh? AHH! (Points at Meg accusingly) You seduced me!

**Meg: **ME?

**Erik: **My innocence!

**Meg: **Are you CRAZY?

**Little Erik: **(Walks in) Will you two stop shouting? You woke me--(sees them) Whoa-ho! What's gong on here?

**Erik and Meg: **Nothing!

**Little Erik: **Yeah. Mhm. Just making some more of that "music of the night"

**Erik: **You don't even know what that means!

**Meg: **Yeah, and it's the worst pick-up line ever.

**Erik: **You... you really think so?

**Meg: **Oh, but, when you say it it's cute!

**Meanwhile...**

**Anis: **I suck at being evil...

**Jayden: **Dont feel bad! It takes practice! Take me for example! Im going to kidnap le famile Rose and Mademoiselle Breyer and turn them in to _the man._

**Efrian: **Who the heck is this guy?

**Anis: **So youre saying I should kidnap people and make them my hostages?

**Jayden: **Well, not exactly...

**Anis: **Ill do it!

**Efrian: **Why do we have cows in our ceiling?

**Pleading Eyes: **Im not kidding! They really do.

**Tune in next time to Mi Padre, el Fop!**


	34. Episode 32

**Link: **(Singing) Wonderboy! What is the secret of your power? Wonderboy! Won't you take me far away from the mucky muck?

**Erik: **What... is that... incessant... racket?

**Link: **It's "Wonderboy" by Tenacious D. I'm telling you, it's like they wrote it for _me_!

**Erik: **First of all, that's absurd. What self respecting musician would write about you? Second, if you really feel it's about you, then why are you singing for yourself to come rescue you? Third, SHUT. UP.

**Haru: **Will you two stop fighting for five seconds? I'm trying to watch something here.

**Link: **I thought we didn't have a TV here.

**Erik: **We don't. That's the computer monitor. Computers can get television too. Idiot...

**Haru:** Yeah, yeah. Shh!

**Erik: **Should you even be on the computer? Didn't the Authores ban all of us from using it?

**Link: **Well since when do you follow the rules? Chandelier hater!

**Falco: **(Pops in through window) Ooh! You got burned by Link! That's bad!

**Erik: **(Calmly tightens the punjab around Link's neck) Where is the Authoress anyway?

**Haru: **I think she said something about going to preorder Twilight Princess for the fourth time or something. Anyway, shh!

**Link: **(Turning red) Need... air... to live...

**Falco: **What're you even watching?

**Haru: **Yu-Gi-Oh the abridged series on youtube. It takes one of the most poorly executed shows ever and turns it one of the most hilarious, yet true to the storyline, spoofs ever.

**Falco: **Forget I asked.

**Link: **(Turning blue) Please... oh merci... ful... Goddesses...

**Erik: **Stop complaining. (Tightens punjab and kills Link)

**Haru: **Um... is it okay to do that?

**Erik: **Meh. He has more lives.

**Link: **(A fairy comes out of his tunic and revives him) Hey guys!

**Haru: **Ah, good call.

**Falco: **Why do I even waste my time with you guys? (Hops inside room) I'm gonna go do review replies.

**Haru: **Play nice, Falco.

**Falco: **Relax, she left me a note telling me what to say.

------Review Replies------

**Konoha's Kage: **Um... well, what dud the Authoress say? The note says "Thank you for all your reviews. I appreciate them tremendously. I'm so glad I managed to make the pairing likeable, as I know many people are against it. yadda yadda..." Alright, whatever! All I want to say is, why is she a miracle worker? For bringing us here? For writing this story? Meh, she's nothing special, let alone a miracle worker. She's just very, very crazy! Oh, and she has someone as awesome as me to inspire her.

**Rosy Witch: **Eh, the note says "Oh wow. I'm so glad that this story has gotten an emotional response from you! I really tried and your review really encouraged me to see this phic through to the end." Well, there's more, but it's too long. Let me just put in my two cents instead. If you've broken ribs laughing, I hope it's from laughing _at _her. That way you can sue. And the crying? Why? Because of Erik, Link, and Haru's bickering? Because they really make me depressed. Proof that any annoying character can still be so beloved... bleh. At least my awesomeness makes up for it.

**Eriks leadinglady: **The note says to you "Yes! I love Erik and Meg together! So glad to see someone agrees. And their sexual tension is just cuter because neither one of them quite wants to admit it! XD. Thank you so much for your compliments. I was a bit worried people would find the last chapter too depressing or" okay, that's enough of that. If you ask me, you should be flaming her for taking so long to update. Almost two weeks? She has no excuse! Unless the excuse is that she was distracted by my awesomeness. In that case, I can relate,

**rhiready: **Erm, the note says "Sorry to dissapoint about the person in the cage. I hope I can make it up to you! As for the cows in the ceiling... well... they're all a part of my SCHEME! Bwahahaha. You brought Haru and Erik cookies? Aw, they're going to be so happy! Thank you for" ya ya, whatever. Okay, let me give you my opinion. The Authoress is too lazy to write a backstory for the person in the cage, if they were even a person. I say you should punish her! Giving cookies to Haru and Erik but no to her are a start, but it isn't enough! I say bake her a whole cake and give it to me instead! That'll teach her... Did I mention that I'm awesome?

**gavvie: **Ahaha. The note requires me to tell you "Ahahaha! That made me crack up. Unfortunately, since Anis is from Spain, his name has a Spanish pronounciation: Ah-niece. However, since he was added into the story for humor, feel free to mispronounce his name however you like! As for the showtunes" blah blah. Geez, authroesses and their talking! Look, you want to know what I think? Anis is pronounces Anus. Meg is pronounced Breasts. Christine is pronounced Flatter breasts. And Falco is pronounced Supreme Lord Of All That Is Awesome.

**Lady Rose: **Well, the authoress's note says something like "You read my mind! I actually did plan to have Jayden kidnapp" and then some more stuff. But it's kinda long. She has a tendancy to go on tangeants, doesn't she? Well let me summarize for you. Can you have an acton sequence? Yes. Will she update soon? Contrary to what she claims, probably not. Does she love you too? Aw geez, women and their _emotions_. Ok look. All you have to know is one thing. Is Falco the most awesome character ever and does he totally rock my socks? Yes, definitely.

**Tsunami Wave: **Psh, the note reads "Glad you liked the Wicked lyrics! I didn't really plan on them. They just seemed to fit. Haha. Silly Erik, not only incredibly sexy masked men can seduce! I'm sorry I took so long to update, to tell the truth I" okay, you get the idea. No need to type out the whole long paragraph. Personally, I think Erik didn't get nearly what he deserved. But nor do Link and Haru. If it was my choice, they'd all get lasered to the face! Of course, I've done that to Link before. But somehow, he was fine just after... I'm awesome, you know.

------Review Replies------

**Falco: **There. Best reviews ever. I should get an awesome award for it.

**Erik: **Do you mind?

**Haru: **Yeah. We're trying to scarf down these delicious cookies that rhiready sent us!

**Falco: **...you mean she really gave you two cookies?

**Link: **(Sniff) Yeah... but not me! I don't know why. I try to be nice. And I mean, I only risk my life all the time to save the WORLD. But do I get cookies? No... Is it because I'm blond? Or because of my pointed, freakishly sized ears? It's the ears, isn't it?

**Falco: **Where the hell are MYcookies?

**Haru: **Well... not to be mean, but nobody sent you any.

**Erik: **Heh, no surprise there. Oh, and I do mean to be mean.

**Falco: **Whatever. Like I need your cookies. Really, I don't even care.

**Link: **I care!

**Falco: **Oh, go bring peace and harmony to some fictional land already, will ya? Buzz off!

**Link: **O...okay... (Walks away sadly, a raincloud over his head)

**Haru: **Poor Link. Maybe I should give him some of my cookies.

**Erik: **No! Believe me, the last thing we need is a sugar-rushed Link!

**Falco: **(Shudders) The horror. So where is the Authoress already?

**Episode 32**

I finished off the remainder of my breakfast, except for the burnt bacon (courtesy of Philippe.) Before I could attract any witnesses; I hurried over to the sink, stood up on a stool so I could reach, and scraped away the mess of charcoaled meat. Finished, I washed my dish in the sink and excused myself.

Monsieur de Chagny and Christine were the only ones still at the table. Philippe had finished his breakfast as quickly as humanly possible, and run off to his room. Christine and I had both been concerned for a moment and considered checking on him. That is, until we heard random music coming from behind his bedroom door. At the risk of triggering another musical number, we just decided to ignore his strange behavior for the time being.

By now Christine had also finished her meal, but she waited for her husband faithfully, even though I knew how frustrated she was with his newfound intellect.

Monsieur de Chagny, however, hadn't even touched his food. He was too busy focusing on the morning paper, which he discovered he could actually read now, and fuming.

"Can you believe this?" He said, slamming his palm on the table. "Look, listen to this. '_Crazed mob members released from prison on technicality'._ Can you believe that? What technicality? They destroyed public property, frightened half of Paris, and ruined a family outing!" He continued to read, only to groan. "_That's_ the technicality?"

"What? What technicality?" I asked. Raoul handed me the paper. I skimmed through the story until I found the technicality specified as '_A convenient solution to a plot dead-end'_.

"What does that even mean?" Raoul said, exasperated, resting his face in his hands.

"Raoul, dear, is it so important?" Christine said sweetly, rubbing his back comfortingly. "After all, no one got hurt. Not you, Philippe, Ann, or myself."

"I guess you're right." Raoul sighed, turning to face her. "I just worry about the others. How did Mademoiselles Rose and Breyer fare? Or Madame Giry for that matter."

Christine's eyes went wide with a sudden thought, a rarity for her. "Or Meg or… Gasp! Little Erik!" Christine began to weep, whether out of genuine concern or the strain from thinking, I couldn't be sure. "We have to check on them!"

Now it was Raoul's turn to widen his eyes. "Ch-check? You mean go to the Phantom's lair?"

"How else, Raoul?" Christine whispered over-dramatically.

"It's not that I'm not concerned, Lotte." Raoul said with a nervous chuckle. "It's just that the Phantom happens to want me dead."

"Oh, you mean that whole 'you being his eternal rival' thing? I'm sure he's over it by now." Christine said reassuringly.

"Yeah, see? Not exactly. That's the whole point of being _eternal_ rivals. Besides, the last time I went there with friendly intentions, he gave my dignity a heavy thrashing!" Raoul retorted.

"Raoul, you used to think jars were going to take over our minds." Christine replied calmly. "You don't _have_ any dignity."

"Oh, c'mon!" Raoul groaned, wiping his brow in embarrassment. "That was months ago! Besides, I've changed drastically since then! Can't we all just let this jar thing _go_ already?"

"No." Christine said with a sweet smile. Raoul looked to me.

"No..." For once I had to agree with Christine.

"Oh, for the love of… fine!" Raoul conceded with a sigh. "You know I can deny you nothing, Christine. And I think very highly of you, Ann."

I smiled. This new Raoul was so endearing when he was frustrated. Sorry as I was to see him unhappy, I could help but be amused by it.

The butler, Barbaduo, stepped in then. "Excuse me, sir. But there is a Monsieur Hunter here for you."

Raoul regarded the butler quizzically, not recognizing the name, but then shrugged and instructed Barbaduo to let them man into the sitting room.

Giving Christine a quick kiss before he left, Raoul made his way to the sitting room to meet this monsieur Hunter.

Christine stood from the table and wandered aimlessly upstairs, eyes as vacant as ever.

But I wasn't so relaxed. Something about this monsieur Hunter seemed off to me, though I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Deciding to investigate for myself, I snuck away to the sitting room as well.

I peeked into the room, clutching the wall with anxious anticipation. There stood Raoul, as expected, speaking with a very strange looking gentleman. He wore a pair of thickly rimmed spectacles and sported an even thicker black mustache. This was made even odder by the fact that his eyebrows seemed to be blond!

His clothing seemed average enough. Actually they seemed extremely average. _Too_ average even. I narrowed my eyes in suspicion. Whoever this man was, he wasn't who he said he was.

"So, Monsieur… Hunter was it?" Raoul said formally.

"Please. Call me Weench."

Raoul gave the man an inquiring stare. "Not to be rude, but, why?"

The strange man guffawed heartily, his mustache going askew for just a split second, before he adjusted it. "That's my name! Weench! Weench Hunter!"

"Right…" Raoul tried to smile pleasantly but his mouth twitched; betraying how discomfited he really was. "How may I be of assistance?"

"Not at all!" The so-called Monsieur Hunter said with another guffaw. "The real question is; how may I help you?"

"Huh?" Raoul replied, expression comical.

"Monsieur, I was hired by a Madame de Chagny.

"Christine hired you?" Raoul looked to the ceiling, quite confused. "You mean she showed the slightest bit of independence? That doesn't seem like her at all."

The strange man shrugged. "Regardless, I am here to fop-proof your home."

"Now hold on just a moment." Raoul said, blocking the man as he made to explore the house. "I can assure you there's been some sort of misunderstanding. My home is a safe one."

"And I don't deny that, monsieur." The strange man covered quickly. "Not for normal people anyway. But monsieur, an intelligent man such as yourself may not grasp the concept of the oblivion that is a fop's mind."

"Actually…" Raoul looked pensive. No doubt he was remembering how shocked he had been by his own stupidity.

_No, monsieur de Chagny, _I thought to myself desperately. _Don't believe him! It must be a trick!_

"You make a good point." Raoul nodded in assent. "But what do you think could possibly be dangerous in my home?"

"Well…" The man looked around the room; I ducked behind the wall before he could see me. "Aha! There!" I peeked back in to find him pointing to the settee. "Settees, sofas, couches, sitting lounges in general. A leading cause of fop deaths."

Raoul regarded the man quizzically. "But… the settee is soft. How could it be dangerous?"

"Fop could swallow it and choke." The man replied, matter-of-factly.

"Swallow it?"

"Mhm."

"You're serious?"

"Dead serious, sir. As you should be!"

Raoul stared silent for a few awkward seconds. "Wait, you… you're not kidding? Swallow a _settee_?"

"Yes!" The supposed Weench Hunter insisted. "And that mailbox outside? Forget it!"

Raoul sighed, rubbing his temples. "And what, pray tell, is s dangerous about a mailbox?"

"A young fop could mail himself somewhere." He answered, completely serious. "Or maybe even mail-order poison. Ooh, that would be bad."

"This is ridiculous" Raoul said, not unkindly. "Even by fop standards. My son is not a _complete_ moron!"

"Hey, don't look at me!" The man said, raising his hands defensively. "I just go where I'm told. If you're against this, take it up with whoever hired me!"

"Indeed." Raoul agreed, slightly irritated. "Wait here a moment." He exited the sitting room and made his way upstairs, calling Christine. I watched him go, until a hand on my shoulder scared me.

"Eep!" I whirled around, surprised. As expected, there stood the self-proclaimed Weench Hunter. Wait a sec… "Weench Hunter? Witch hunter!" I screamed. "Get away from me." I began to run, but the Witch Hunter grabbed me and lifted me off the floor with ease.

"Hey, relax!" He said with a laugh, his voice becoming much lighter, more amiable.

Still, I could feel my blood run cold from fear. I kicked and flailed my arms, desperately trying to break out of his grip. "Put… me… down! Help!" I screamed, but the Witch Hunter stuffed something that seemed like hair into my mouth. I spat it out, recognizing it as his mustache, as it fell to the floor.

"Ann, please. I'm not going to hurt you." He said gently.

"Like hell you're not!"

"Mademoiselle!" He said in surprise. "Such language! Really! I expected better from you!"

His reprimand seemed familiar, and suddenly I knew where I had heard that voice before. I stilled in his grip, turning my head just enough to get a glimpse of him.

"There? Are we calm now?" He said with a kind smile, placing me gently down on the floor. I stared up at him as he removed the ridiculously fake glasses; revealing a freckled button nose and two large, sparkling green eyes that squinted into crescents when he laughed or smiled widely.

"You… the man who saved me at the fair!"

"Clever girl!" He said, his arms akimbo. "But now we really must be going, before he comes back."

"Going? Going where?" I was still worried by the fact that he had disguised himself as a witch hunter also in disguise. What was the purpose in that?

"There isn't time. We must go now, Please, just trust me." He said quickly. A door slammed upstairs. Raoul was coming back. "Let's go!"

"Wait!" I weighed the pros and cons quickly. On the one hand, he could be a witch hunter. On the other hand, if he was a witch hunter, why bother saving me in the first place?

"Ann!" He grabbed my wrist and began to pull me along. I snatched my hand away stubbornly.

"I'll only go with you if…" Raoul's angry footsteps could be heard on the stairs.

"If…?" He asked earnestly.

"You tell me your name."

"Hey! My wife says she never hired anyone!" Raoul yelled furiously, charging towards us.

"Done!" The man picked me up and dashed through the door. Raoul chased after us, but the freckled man's speed was astounding. Before Raoul even made it close to the door; the man had made it outside, crossed the street, and thrown the both of us into a carriage.

Raoul burst out of the de Chagny manor. The freckled man closed the curtains to our carriage. He had obviously planned this all out very well. Since the carriage was parked on the other side of the street and appeared empty, Raoul had no reason to suspect we would be in there, let alone check.

"Phew…" The freckled man exhaled in relief. "That was a close one." He began to say something else, but I interrupted, feeling my fear rush back.

"Are you kidnapping me?"

The freckled man looked at me with concern. His face seemed too kind, too gentle to be the face of a kidnapper! And yet, wasn't that what he was doing? No, there had to be another explanation.

"Hmm… I suppose I am." He put his hand behind his head and smiled ashamedly. "Why? Does it bother you?"

"Why are you doing this?"

"Ah, that's a very good question, Winanona." He said happily, as if this was all just a game. "But unfortunately, it's a question I'm not going to answer just yet."

He was such an odd fellow! I couldn't place if his boyish charm was real or acted. "How did you know where to find me?"

"Another excellent question!" He said, making a tally mark in the air as if he was keeping score. "But alas, it is also a question I am not going to answer just yet."

I narrowed my eyes in annoyance. "Okay, now you're just being annoying."

"Indeed!" He laughed. How could he take the situation so lightly? "But to make it up to you, I'll come through on my promise!"

Oh yes, I had demanded to know his name. How could I have forgotten? Oh right, I was distracted by the whole 'being kidnapped' thing.

He sobered, while still retaining his kind smile. "My name is Jayden, though I'm better known as Jayden the jaded."

"Jaded?" His name suited him, something about it made me think of those jade-colored eyes of his. But his nickname seemed way off the mark! Him? Jaded? He didn't seem cynical or lackluster, not even weary. So then how was he jaded?

Jayden shrugged. "Don't ask me. I didn't choose the nickname."

No, it was more complicated than all that. Something about this man… that same desire to both trust him and distance myself from him overcoming me... He wasn't quite right.

"Are you going to kill me?" I didn't think he was going to, but I had to be sure.

Jayden blinked repeatedly before he could answer. "What? Of course not! Whatever gave you that idea?" He turned away from me to instruct the driver to stat the carriage, then faced me again with another concerned look. "Ann, I don't mean you any harm. In fact, I like you!"

He laughed again, so good-naturedly. It couldn't be an act. No one could feign _this_ level of easy temperament.

"Then what do you want from me?" My fear had all but dissipated by now. After all, I was defenseless. If he had wanted to harm me he would have already done so.

"Well, I thought maybe we could find your mother and her friend. That way you won't have to worry about me so much." His face fell. "Even though I'd never hurt you. I mean, I couldn't swat a fly! Really, I'm actually rather pathetic!"

Something in me told me he wasn't lying. Well, about the fly thing anyway. He most obviously was anything _but_ pathetic.

"Alright then." I said, making a decision and sticking to it. "I'll tell you where to find my mother."

"Excellent!" Jayden smiled again. That made me feel better. It seemed unnatural when he frowned. "But… you will help me kidnap them, won't you?"

I gave him an incredulous look. Jayden didn't even bat an eyelash. "You're serious?"

"Dead serious."

"Okay, just checking."

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

I woke with a burning sensation in my throat. I tried to swallow it away, only for it to grow worse. Wincing in pain; I opened my eyes, blinking my vision into focus. The cavernous ceiling… I could feel warm, lush velvet blankets around me. _Little Erik's bed…_

I sat up slowly, squealing slightly from a sudden pang of pain in my back. I brought an arm back to see what was ailing me, only to feel some other cloth slide off of my shoulders. Curiously, I pulled the cloth forward. Black, long, lined—wait! It was Erik's cape! Why did I have it?

I swallowed again, the rawness of my throat tasting almost bloody. I was so congested I could hardly breathe, and my head just felt heavy.

"I think I'm sick." I could hardly recognize the croak that came in place of my voice. I sighed, or at least tried to, but my nasal passages were almost entirely blocked.

How had this happened? I couldn't remember feeling this sick since I was a little girl! I tried to think of last night, but couldn't seem to remember. I knew what had happened, I could feel it lingering at the recesses of my mind, but I couldn't seem to pull the memory out.

The door creaked open slowly, as if someone was making an effort to enter noiselessly, but failing. Little Erik entered, eyes brightening as he caught sight of me.

"Meg! You're awake!" he ran over to my side and jumped onto the bed. "I've been checking ever hour! I was starting to worry you'd never wake up!"

I smiled and began to thank him for his concern, only to find myself gagging from the mucus in my throat.

"Hmm, yeah. Papa said you'd probably be ill when you woke up. Oh! But I should probably tell him you're up! He hasn't slept all night!"

I looked at little Erik quizzically. What did Erik's poor sleeping habits have to do with anything?

"He just stayed here with you the whole night!" Little Erik elaborated. "Oh, well, actually, at first I was sleeping here. But in the middle of the night, Papa came in carrying you. He asked me to sleep on the settee because you'd finally stopped shivering so you could be taken away from the fireplace, and you'd be more comfortable sleeping in my comfy bed!"

It was too much information to process at once, especially with my head feeling as heavy as it currently did. It didn't help that Little Erik's childish enthusiasm sometimes made him susceptible to run-on sentences.

I tried to pick out bits and pieces of his explanation, until I registered the most unbelievable part. Erik had stayed with me? What, out of concern? He's wasted his entire night just to guarantee my well-being?

Then it all hit me! Everything that had happened last night came flooding back. Our argument, our coincidental meeting on the rooftop, his accusation, my confession… But, he had left me there! I remembered. I had looked up to find him gone, uninterested in my feelings, still disgusted by me, and now probably considering me weak as well.

But then how had I ended up like _this_?

"Why—" My voice was so inflamed that I broke off mid-sentence.

Little Erik jumped off the bed, taking my unfinished question as his cue. "I should go get him. Hold on, I'll be back soon!"

And with that he scampered off out of the room.

There was an unpleasant taste in my mouth. Ugh, I hated being sick. But it was my own fault. What had I been thinking? Out in the snow with no coat? Falling _asleep_? _I deserve to be sick, I suppose…_

But then again, why was it snowing this time of season? Wait, what season was it again? Oh for goodness sake, it didn't matter! The fact was that it had snowed, I had acted stupidly, and now I was sick! No doubt about it, this was one of the worst mornings ever. And nothing, and I mean nothing, could possibly make it any better than that—

_Creak… _The door opened slowly, still whining as whoever entered attempted silence, interrupting my thoughts. I wanted to make a biting remark about the door sabotaging any attempts at sneaking up on a poor, defenseless, sick girl, but what I saw stole my rational thought.

There stood Erik, Erik the former _Phantom of the Opera_, carrying a tray with a steaming teacup, and… smiling. Smiling? SMILING?

Well, I couldn't really call it a smile. It was so slight; I could only guess it might have been a smile. And yet there was definitely some trace of a smile there. Erik was actually smiling somewhat—and at me! This couldn't be real. Maybe I was still asleep up on the rooftop, I was dreaming! Maybe I died and this was heaven! Or… or… perhaps I had somehow fallen into one of those parallel dimensions Little Erik had read to me about.

"Well into the afternoon and you're barely waking? Really, Marguerite, don't you know that sloth is a sin?" He said sardonically, pulling up a chair beside the bed.

I inwardly calmed. That sarcastic wit and mocking tone, _that_ was more like Erik.

"I…"

"Don't speak." He interrupted, sitting in the chair and setting the tray on my lap. "Not yet. Drink this first."

I took the warm cup in my hands and sampled the aroma of its contents—putrid! It seemed to be some sort of tea, but not one I was familiar with. Then again, I did not make a habit of drinking anything that smelled like mothballs and decaying roots. Even as congested as I was, the odor was nauseating.

I set the teacup back down on the tray, trying to think of a way to ask Erik for a different, more familiar, less disgusting brew, without incurring his wrath.

Erik sighed impatiently beside me and snatched up the cup. "Don't be childish. Just drink it!" He snapped, putting the cup to my lips. There was no disobeying him now. Bravely, I held my breath and took a sip...

…only to cough in revulsion moments later. How could anything _that_ foul smelling, taste even worse than it stunk?

"Come now, it can't be all that terrible." Erik chastised.

But despite my initial reaction, I found that the rank liquid had soothed my throat. The improvement from just that small sip was so great; that I could I could bear to swallow without wincing in pain!

I felt the cup being pressed to my lips again. Alright, I would be smart about this! Placing my hands over Erik's, I tipped the cup all the way forward and downed the contents of the cup in one swallow.

I felt as if I was going to vomit from the sordid flavor alone! But Erik suddenly brandished a glass of warm water, from seemingly nowhere, and handed it to me. I drank it desperately, trying to rinse my mouth of the sickening tea.

I exhaled in relief and put down the glass. It was amazing how quickly and how efficient the nauseating concoction really was! Already I could feel my nasal passages clearing, my throat had cooled, and my head felt lighter.

"A particularly powerful foreign medicine." Erik said simply.

"Mm." I replied, taking in a deep breath. "What's in it?"

"You'd rather not know." Erik took the tray from my lap and placing it on the floor.

"Why not?" I blinked, still marveling over how much better I felt and how close to normal my voice was.

"Because you wouldn't know what half of the ingredients were. And if I told you the other half, you'd probably retch." Erik replied, turning to look me straight in the face.

"Well… I'm much better now." I said, not sure what else to say. "Thank you, Erik."

"Don't thank me." He said, seeming rather annoyed. "I just wished to avoid having to nurse you back to health. You've proved yourself most troublesome, Marguerite. Perhaps it would have been better to just leave you on the rooftop." He smirked as he finished the sentence, seeming self-satisfied.

"I see." I looked down at my hands in my lap. So then, Little Erik had been wrong about him staying the night with me? Of course! What had I been expecting? Little Erik probably invented the story to cheer me.

Erik scoffed, but at what? I looked up to find he had most likely been scoffing at himself. "No." He said.

"No?" I asked.

"No." He repeated, as if that explained everything.

I waited for him to continue, but he didn't. "No what, Erik?" Honestly, I wasn't a mind reader!

"No. It's a lie." He answered dryly.

"What's a lie, Erik?" I said, trying to be patient with his enigmatic responses.

"I… you didn't… It's not that…" He stopped himself, seeming pensive. Well good, better that he took a moment to piece together what he wanted to say rather than throwing incomprehensible parts of his thoughts at me. Actually, he reminded me of how difficult to understand Little Erik had been this morning.

I folded my hands neatly, waiting.

"I lied." He said finally. "I don't think ill of you, nor did I wish you ill." He looked away, at the swan head of the bed, avoiding my gaze.

I didn't know what to make of his apparent confession. Though I was impressed by his intelligent play on words, even in such an awkward situation. Nonetheless, I was terribly confused. Why was he telling me this? And why now?

"Why did you lie?" It was the only question that came to mind. And even though I knew that it was wiser to just drop the conversation, I really wanted to know!

Erik licked his lips, still refusing to look my way. The air around us was thick with tension. It was like a repeat of the night before.

"I don't know…" he said, his voice low and soft and surprisingly honest.

I smiled to myself, overjoyed in spite of the situation. He was being honest with me. He had, to a small degree, opened up to me. So then, there was still a chance? Discovering my feelings hadn't pushed him away, and neither was he disgusted by me. So, if he no longer thought me a whore, what exactly did he think of me now?

I leaned forward to reach out to him, but stopped and cried out as a sudden pain shot through my back.

Erik's head snapped up to face me, his eyes glinting with concern. "What is it?"

"Nothing." I said, trying to reach behind me. Oh yes, the cuts from the fair. "Really, I'm fine. It passed." Erik ignored my assurances and placed a hand on my shoulder, pulling me forward gently and tucking my hair over my shoulder to get a better look.

He muttered a curse—the morning really was a repeat of last night!—and turned me until I faced away from him.

"Be still." He instructed, disappearing from the room for a brief while. When he returned he held that basin from last night—but clean, as well as an unlabeled bottle of green syrupy liquid, bandages, and a knife. He took his seat on the chair at my bedside and placed his supplied on the nightstand beside him.

"Is this going to hurt?" I barely dared to ask, remembering how he had sutured my arm last night. I found myself subconsciously caressing the stitched arm from the memory.

"Mildly." Erik replied. He paused for a moment, though I could feel his deep eyes boring into me. "I need to…" I could hear him swallow behind me, "I need to remove your blouse."

I bit my lip, too afraid to ask what exactly he planned to do, but nodded my assent.

Carefully, Erik began to cut open the back of my blouse. Finished with the first layer, he began to fumble with the laces of my corset. Looking back, I was actually thankful for corsets! It had absorbed much to the whip's blows. How much worse would my wounds have been without it?

Erik began pulling the corset apart. I whimpered, feeling as if he was peeling away my very skin.

"My apologies." Erik said stiffly. "Your skin seems to be trying to heal over the corset. You shouldn't wear tight-fitting or lacey garments with wounds like these."

I grimaced, giving a pained smile even though I knew he could not see it. "Well then, that's my fault for my poor choice in combat clothing. Why are you apologizing?"

"Because my negligence led to it. Fortunately, it doesn't seem infected… yet." When finally the damned thing was off, Erik tossed the corset to the floor. Instinctively I crossed my arms over my breasts in protection. "I suppose I will have to procure some new clothes for you as well."

"Logically. Unless you'd rather have me walking the streets without any." I teased.

Erik poured the green liquid onto a cloth and pressed it against my back, sending dreadful needles of pain through my skin. "You speak too much." He retorted.

I squealed in pain, but continued to protest. "Now that was just cruel! What are you using that awful syrup for?"

"Disinfectant." Erik replied, the smirk evident in his voice. "I could clean the wound without it, but then we increase the risk of infection. You wouldn't want me to have to amputate your back, now would you?"

Contradictory to his reply, Erik gentled his motions.

"Amputate my back? But it isn't a limb. How exactly would you go about it?" I challenged.

"How? Very carefully, that's how. Though it would probably be of better use to do away with that chatty head!" He said, flicking the back of my head for emphasis.

Our friendly banter was a welcome distraction from the pain, even as Erik made an effort to be gentle. But besides my physical discomfort, I was actually quite at ease. Erik seemed so calm, so amiable. We were teasing each other, back and forth, as long time friends do.

It was a start, wasn't it?

Having cleaned the wounds, Erik re-corked the bottle of disinfectant and placed all his supplies, save the bandages, on the tray; to take away later.

It was almost over. Good, I was beginning to get cold. I held up my hair and waited for Erik to bandage me up, but he didn't. "Erik?" I asked, trying to peek over my shoulder at what he was doing.

"Don't move!" He spat. I straightened, but not before catching a glimpse of his face. He looked so perturbed. Why?

Slowly, Erik's trembling hands brought the bandages under my right arm, across my chest, under my left shoulder, and to my back again. He repeated the process, moving lower each time. His hands were so unsteady, and I suddenly realized why as they accidentally brushed the tops of my breasts.

Erik stilled for a moment, hands hovering over my chest, before quickly continuing as if nothing had happened, trying too hard to make it seem as if he hadn't noticed anything. I felt my face grow hot as Erik hands repeatedly scanned over my breasts, on occasion coming into contact by mistake. It would be easier if he looked at the front, at what he was doing, but he didn't want to see me bare. I silently thanked him for considering my privacy.

We were both completely silent as he continued the process, eventually coming down to just above my waist where he fastened the bandage. Testing it, Erik tucked his thumbs under the bandage and pulled slightly at it. Then he encircled me loosely with his arms, testing the top front of the bandage. Just as he began to move away; I covered his hands with my own, keeping him there. I wanted his comfort. I wasn't sure why, as I wasn't especially in need of comforting at the moment, and yet I ached so much to have him hold me.

Erik took a moment, but responded. He leaned forward, resting his face against the back of my neck. I hadn't expected him to be so willing. I had hoped, but I hadn't actually believed he would. I had been granted this. Perhaps I had done something right after all. Maybe, just maybe, I had earned this.

Erik sighed against the back of my neck, sending a ticklish thrill through my body. His arms still hung loose around me. He was not holding me, but at least he was leaning on me. I could live with that. I could live with being someone for him to rely on. Even if we could never be more than just friends, just to be able to stay near him…

Then, it happened. Erik acted without warning, yet it had been so tender that I hardly knew if it had happened or if I had imagined it. No, I couldn't have imagined it. Erik had—

"So is she better yet?" came Little Erik's voice as he walked in. Erik and I sprang apart immediately, as if we had just been caught doing something wrong. Well, maybe it was wrong. I couldn't be sure. All I knew was that I had been at peace. "What's with you two?" Little Erik inquired in response to the silence.

"Nothing." I smiled, putting the recent events out of mind. "I'm feeling much better now. Thank you both."

Erik grunted a reply, arms crossed. "Just don't get sick again. It's troublesome." He stood and left the room, as if he had much more important things to do.

"Was it something I said?" Little Erik asked.

"No." I shook my head, patting Little Erik on the head. "He's just being his grumpy self."

Little Erik shrugged and began to say something to me. But I heard not a word of it. My thoughts were too focused on that small patch on the back of my neck, where Erik had kissed me.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Meanwhile, still stupidly wandering the Parisian streets on a stupid quest, Anis and Efrian stupidly continued their journey.

"This…is stupid." Efrian said.

"Tell me about it!" Anis protested in a huff. "I mean, the _tune in next time_ promised me in this chapter! And look! Now its' practically over and I haven't had a single scene!"

Efrian looked around, then turned back to his dim-witted master. "But Master von Alba, you're in a scene right now."

"Really?" Anis blinked, trying his darndest to think. "Hey, I guess you're right!"

"Wait a minute. It's morning!" Efrian observed. "What the heck? Where did we spend the night?"

"Who cares?"

"I do!" Efrian retorted.

"Look, Efrian. That isn't the point. The point is that the _tune in next time_ lied to us!" Anis said, gesturing wildly, again, for no apparent reason… again.

"It's not that it lied, it was just inaccurate." Efrian said, rolling his eyes. "They usually are inaccurate. It's a joke, not a summary."

"Well it's a stupid joke!" Anis stomped his foot in frustration. "And I still haven't done anything particularly dastardly! I mean, Jayden's done more evil things than me and he still has boyhood freckles!"

"Who's Jayden?"

Anis looked around him in confusion. "I… don't know. I assume he's one of the characters in another scene."

"But how could you know about someone you've never met, heard, seen, read, or even had a prophetic vision about?" Efrian asked, quite perplexed.

Anis and Efrian both looked to the floor, crickets chirping from some unknown location.

"This is stupid." Anis said, breaking the silence.

"Agreed." Efrian agreed. "We've probably lost half the readers by now."

Anis panicked. "Quick, end the chapter!"

* * *

**Philippe: **Wait! I bet a lot of you are wondering what musical number was going on in my room? Hmm? Hmm? 

**Crickets: **(chirp)

**Philippe: **Of course you were! Well never fear! Instead of a _tune in next time, _today I shall be giving you an exclusive look into details the authoress skipped over. Today's special, my musical number!

**Pre-recorded Audience: **Hurray!

**Philippe: **First, some background. You all remember Stella, don't you?

**Stella: **(Walks in, Pink Bow as huge and Pink as ever) Hello.

**Pre-Recorded Audience: **Boo!

**Stella: **Shut up! You don't know me!

**Pre-Recorded Audience: **(Doing Springer chant) Phil-ippe! Phil-ippe! Phil-ippe!

**Philippe: **Well Stella came to me very distressed. Tell them why, Ms Beaucanon.

**Stella: **Well, I've been out of the phic so long. I just worried that maybe Little Erik's forgotten me or... or even found someone new! (Cries)

**Pre-Recorded Audience: **Aww...

**Philippe: **So I decided to help Stella redo her image so she could be put back into the phic, by giving her a... MAKE-OVER! Cue the music!

(Music starts up, right on cue)

**Philippe: **_  
Whenever I see someone less fortunate than I  
And let's face it--who isn't?--less fortunate than I?  
My tender heart tends to start to bleed!  
And when someone needs a make-over  
I simply have to takeover  
I kniw, I know...  
Exactly... what they need_

(Philippe turns to Stella, who has been seated on a comfy salon chair)

**Philippe:  
**_And even in your case  
Though it's the toughest case I've yet to face!_

**Stella: **Hey!

**Philippe:  
**_Don't worry, I'm determined to suceed  
Follow my lead  
And yes, indeed  
You... will... be..._

_Fopular...  
You're gonna be fopular!  
I'll teach you the proper ploys  
When you talk to boys  
Little ways to flirt and flounce _(Flirts and flounces around)  
_I'll show you what shoes to wear! _(Pulls off Stella's ugly red shoes and throws them away)  
_How to fix your hair!_ (Yanks off large pink bow)  
_Everything that really counts_

_To be fopular  
I'll help you be fopular!  
You'll hang with the right cohorts _(Takes a picture of them together)  
_You'll be good at sports_ (Puts a foam #1 hand on her hand)  
_Know the slang you've got to know_ (Hands her the "Foptionary")  
_So let's start_  
_'cause you've got an awfully long way to go..._

**Stella: **Hey! I didn't come here to be insulted! I'm beautiful! And rich! I don't have to take this!

**Philippe: **(Puts an arm around her shoulders and looks at his nails)  
_Don't be offended by my frank analysis_  
(Checks off her traits on a clipboard)_ Think of it as personality dialysis_  
_Now that I've chosen to become a pal, a-  
-ssistant and advisor  
There's nobody wiser  
Not when it comes to fopular  
I know about fopular  
And with an assist from me  
To be who you'll be  
Instead of dreary who you were  
_(Looks her up and down) _Well, are  
There's nothing that can stop you  
From becoming fopuler!_

**Stella: **(Correcting, annoyed) Lar.

**Philippe: **(Looks shifty-eyed, then picks up and cane and top hat, and proceeds to prance around the room)  
_La, la! La, la!  
We're gonna make you  
Fop...u...lar_

_When I see depressing creatures _(Points to Stella)  
_With unprepossesing features_

**Stella: **WHAT?**  
**

**Philippe: **(Calming her)  
_I remind them on their own behalf to... think... of...  
Celebrated Victomes _(Pulls Raoul into scene)  
_Or especially great Opera Singers _(Pulls Christine into the scene)  
_Did they have brains or knowledge?_  
Don't make me laugh!  
They were fopular!

**Raoul: **Aw, geez. (Tries to get away, but Philippe pulls him back)

**Philippe:  
**_It's all about fopular_  
_It's not about aptitude  
It's the way you're viewed  
So it's very shrewd to be  
Very, very fropular  
Like... me!_

(Philippe takes a mirror and holds it infront of Stella. She looks quite rediculous. Barefoot, her hair a mess, holding a foam hand in one arm and a fake dictionary in the other)

**Philippe: **(Looking into mirror with Stella) Why, Ms Beaucanon. Look at you. You're with someone who's beautiful.

**Stella: **You jerk! (Breaks mirror over Philippe's head) You're no help! This was a huge waste of time! Arg! (Storms off)

**Pre-Recorded Audience: **Yay!

**Philippe: **(To himself, picking the shards of glass off his cloat, and looks great doing it!) You're welcome  
_And though you protest  
Your disinterest  
I know clandestinely...  
YOU'RE GONNA GRIN AND BEAR IT  
_(Turns evil and insane) _Your newfound Fopularity!  
HA!_

_(Still evil) La, la! La, la!  
You'll be fopular!  
Just not quite as fopular...  
As... PHILIPPE...!_

(Curtain falls. End scene)

**Pre-Recorded Audience: **(Applaudes) Woo-hoo! Yeah! Bravo! Encore! Woo! Yeah! Phil-ippe! Phil-ippe! Phil-ippe!

**Authoress:** (Walks in) I'm back! What the... WHAT HAPPENED HERE?


	35. Episode 33

**Falco: **(Walks by, eating a cookie. Waves at the others) Hey guys. (Walks away)

**Erik: **(Sitting on the Authoress' bed with Haru) The hell? Did Falco just greet us in a positive way?

**Haru: **Yes, he seems to be in great spirits. Just earlier he helped me put away the groceries.

**Erik: **But that isn't like him at all.

**Haru: **Maybe he's gotten used to being here. After all, you were pretty rude when you first arrived.

**Erik: **How would you know?! I arrived before you!

**Haru: **Link told me.

**Erik:** Yes, but I'm ALWAYS mean to him. It's LINK.

**Haru: **True...

**Falco: **(Walks in with a plate of cookies) So, what're we up to?

**Haru: **We? As in, you included with us?

**Erik: **(Stands up and points at him) Alright! What are you up to now?!

**Pleading Eyes: **(Walks in) He's not up to anything. He's just happy! Willow Rose sent him some cookies. (Pats Falco's head) Deep down, Falco isn't a mean guy. He's just insecure and has both a big ego and inferiority complex at once. He just needed some love.

**Falco: **Screw love. I have cookies, biotches!

**Haru: **Right... wait, where's Link?

**Erik: **Don't look at me. I haven't killed him since this morning.

**Link: **(Under computer desk) I'm here... (sniffs) Even Falco got cookies. But I didn't. I mean, I'm sure he deserves them. I only save one nation, he saves a whole planetary system. But then again, he gets PAID to do it. The only reward I get are highly-rated sequals...

**Pleading Eyes: **Aw, Link? Do you need a hug?

**Link: **DON'T TOUCH ME! I don't deserve cookies... then I don't deserve to live! (Takes out master sword) Goodbye, cruel adventure game! (stabs himself, but a fairy revives him) Goddesses dammit!

**Pleading Eyes: **Well that's the end of that chapter.

**Haru: **What do you mean? We resolved nothing. Anis is still loose in your story somewhere, this phic is not funny anymore, and now link is tyring to kill himself.

**Link: **Goodbye, critically acclaimed musical score by Koji Kondo! (Stabs self again, but is revived)

**Pleading Eyes: **I SAID, that's the end of that chapter!

**Falco: **(Shrugs, eating a cookie) Can't argue with that logic.

**Link: **Goodbye, various love interests who I never really hook up with, leaving a never-ending fodder for fanfiction writers! (Stabs self, is revived)

**Haru: **Whatever. I'm going to go narrate now.

**Pleading Eyes: **Don't forget to wera a sweater! Well, I better do review replies!

**Link: **Goodbye, inconvenient plot twists that usully involve Zelda having an alter ego! (stabs self, is revived)

------Review Replies------

**Tsunami Wave: **It was between that or "Fopping through Life." I chose fopular in the end. I'm glad I did!

**rhiready: **Hmm, I think Link is too busy killing himself to guess. Let me see... give me a clue! C'mon, please? Is it Phantom related? Kingdom Hearts maybe? Um..er... well, I really want that cake. That's it! You're going to be... a cake! ...no? Damn. Foiled again.

**gavvie: **AHAHAHA. It's funny because it's anus--erm--Anis. Wait, did you ever take Popular seriously 0.o?

**Lady Willow Rose: **Aw, thanks for the cookies. Falco is so happy now! He even helped repair my computer! Of course, he knows nothing about computers, so all he did was yell at it and kick it, so now it's worse than before... but it's the thought that counts!

**familyguyfreak: **Um, sorry! I didn't mean to end the chapter! It's all Anis' fault! Stupid Anis! As soon as I get him out of this phic... he's gonna get it!

**Konoha's Kage: **Hey, thanks! Your review was so wonderfully wonderful, in three ways! Man, I'm glad we understand each other.

**Eriks leadinglady:** Yeah, rotten kids! Ah well, maybe somethign well happen this chapter to make up for it. (winks)

------Review Replies------

**Pleading Eyes: **Done, I'm so pro.

**Erik: **Wow, that's the shortest review reply session I've seen you do in a long time.

**Pleading Eyes: **(Glares) You're not helping.

**Falco: **Link, buddy, don't kill yourself! I mean, there's pleanty of reasons to live! For one, you get to look at my awesomness all the time! How lucky is that? I can't do that without a mirror. If anyone should be depressed, it should be me!

**Link: **B-but... the Authoress... she finally started a Legend of Zelda fic... and I'm not even the main character! My Shadow is! Why?! (Stabs self, is revived)

**Falco: **...forget this. I'm just not the caring type. Where's Haru?

**Haru: **NARRATING! NOW SHUT UP SO I CAN START ALREADY!

**Episode 33**

Anis and Efrian sat at the curb. Anis was busying himself drawing pictures in the sidewalk with his finger, while Efrian glared at the world; hating his existence.

Anis suddenly looked up, eyes wide. "You feel that, Efrian?"

Efrian only grunted a response.

"It feels like people are watching us through screens somewhere. We're the focus of the phic right now!" Anis said, standing in enthusiasm.

Efrian only grunted in response.

"Don't you see what this means?!" Anis said, gesturing wildly for no apparent reason, as he so often did. "We finally get to do something!"

Efrian stood, arms crossed… and only grunted in response.

"This is fantastic!" Anis declared, jumping up and down in excitement. "Especially since I was thinking..."

Now Efrian's eyes widened. Anis, thinking? Such a thing had never happened before. "R-really?"

"Yeah, but then my head started to hurt." Anis admitted. Efrian scowled. "But hey, then I read a leaked version of the script and didn't have to think anymore!"

Efrian said nothing, banging his head against a nearby wall.

"Efrian, cut that out for a second and listen" Anis said, beginning to explain his _wonderful_ plan. "We're in fanfiction. All sorts of impossible things can happen here! Characters can act completely out of character without warning, impossible pairings can happen without explanation, and continuity errors run ramped!"

"Your point being?" Efrian asked, holding his now lumpy head and praying for a concussion.

"Efrian, we're a couple of the only characters that know we're in a story! That means we can manipulate it!" Anis smiled widely, as if he had just done something very good.

"I don't know about that." Efrian said with reservation. "I mean, I wouldn't want to make a rip in the time-space continuum of the fanfiction universe. Think of all the angry fans that would come after us."

"Okay, forget the possible repercussions for a moment." Anis said, making a mental note to look up the definition of repercussions later. "Just think of the _power_!"

"I'm thinking about it." Efrian shrugged. "Quite frankly, I can't really think of anything useful."

"You just have to think outside the box!" Anis said. "Start thinking according to the evil villain formula!" Anis' own blatant contradiction went over Anis' head. Efrian ignored it, not even bothering trying to explain anything to him

"Alright then." Efrian said in defeat. "What do you propose we do, Master Von Alba?"

Anis placed a finger to his chin, trying to adopt a 'pondering' look. "Well, first we need to find a field that's completely desolate, and that's like a bajillion miles long. The kind of place that could never exist in real life—but it's right over there!" He pointed to outside of town, where a large, desolate field awaited them.

"Of course." Efrian said, rolling his eyes as they made their way to said field. "And no one ever noticed this field before now."

"Thirdly," Anis said, counting on his fingertips, "we need an evil lair. You know, the kind that's built all in black stone and has pointy metallic tips of evil, and a lava moat, and it floats in the air, all menacing, and it has these really high towers, and only one window, but it's an _evil_ window, and a dungeon below, and spikes all around, and booby traps inside that only catch our enemies, and… stuff." Anis finished lamely.

"Are you finished?" Efrian had all but reached the end of his patience. "That is completely ridiculous, not to mention impossible, and no such evil lair is going to appear out of thin air just because you _want_ it do!"

"But…" Anis whined stubbornly, "I _want_ it!"

As if on cue a powerful earthquake suddenly wracked the ground beneath their feet, casting Anis and his servant to the floor.

"Gasp!" said Anis once the earthquake had passed, not realizing that you're not actually supposed to _say_ gasp.

They stood, Efrian about to continue ragging on Anis about his stupid lair idea; when suddenly, out of thin air, an evil lair, the kind that's built all in black stone and has pointy metallic tips of evil, and a lava moat, and it floats in the air, all menacing, and it has these really high towers, and only one window, but it's an _evil_ window, and a dungeon below, and spikes all around, and booby traps inside that only catch enemies and… stuff, popped into existence with a _ping_.

"No… fopping… way…" Efrian said incredulously, staring up at the monstrosity Anis had just created.

"Yes!" Anis jumped up in the air in victory. "I _told_ you! Now all we need are bodyguards, like, big buff men with lizard heads!"

"No." Efrian said plainly.

"No?" Anis whined.

"No, you're allergic to lizards." Efrian stated. "Now listen, just because you brought this abomination into existence doesn't mean that it should be here! Don't you understand what you've just done? You've broken every rule of fiction and insulted any credible writer, whether professional or amateur, in only a few paragraphs!"

"Awesome! It has a throne room!" Anis shouted, running past Efrian, mid sentence, and into the awesome new evil lair.

"Fop damn it." Efrian said to himself, knowing no good would come of this.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Meg walked into the main room, fully dressed despite the act that Erik ripped up her clothes last chapter… ahem. Anyway.

Erik sat at his organ, as usual, scribbling something down. Meg approached him tentatively, hoping he wasn't in a foul mood.

"I'm leaving." She said mousily. Erik's hand froze, dropping his quill, as he turned to face her.

"Leaving? But you're not well yet. You should be in bed." He replied gruffly.

"But I have to see my mother." Meg reasoned. "I don't know if she's alright. Please, I promise I'll come right back."

Erik looked at her for a moment, before turning away and resuming his activities. "As you please. It isn't my concern."

Meg regarded him sadly, his sudden aloofness leaving her cold and unsatisfied. Still, she could deal with that later. Right now, she had to make sure her mother was alright.

She left the lair, following the path Raoul had led her down before, and hailed a cab.

Making her way to the humble flat, Meg held her breath, bracing herself for whatever she would find. She knocked on the door…

…to have Christine answer? She had braced herself, but she hadn't expected this!

"C-christine?" Meg sputtered dumbly, surprised by the Viscountess' sudden appearance in such a humble abode.

"Meg!" Christine threw her arms around Meg, embracing her. "I'm so glad you're alright! Madame Giry and I were just discussing going to see you."

Christine invited her in, which was odd considering it was really Meg's home, and the two of the sat down in the living room, where Madame Giry as waiting.

"Maman!" Meg kissed her mother, embracing her tightly. "I was so worried. Thank the stars you're alright!"

"I am fine, mon petite." Madame Giry said calmly, pulling away to go prepare some tea.

"Oh Meg! I'm so glad you're alright! I was so worried!" Christine said heavily.

Meg frowned in annoyance. The memory of Erik's gentility came to mind, followed by his sudden aloofness, and Meg suddenly understood. He had probably thought about Christine. He was always _thinking_ of her. The man was so infuriatingly loyal, would never say a word against her, and how did she repay him?

And even Little Erik! He adored his mother, this woman who had left him behind! While Meg, who had stayed and risked her own life for him, was only considered a friend.

The soprano looked at Meg with tears glistening in those wide, vacant eyes for her. She took Meg's hand, but Meg pulled away in disgust and envy.

"Meg?" Christine said, sounding hurt.

"What?" Meg snapped, not even trying to hide her disdain anymore. Deep down she had always resented Christine for leaving her and marrying the Viscount. It wasn't even that she married into higher class that bothered Meg; it was the fact that Christine had seemed to forget about her lower class friends! Like she was too good for them!

"I don't understand." Christine let the tears fall down her perfect porcelain cheeks. "I thought… Meg, why are you angry with me?"

"I'm NOT!" Meg stood, retreating to her room, unable to stand being near her former friend any longer!

But Christine followed. "Meg, please!" she cried, inviting herself into the room and shutting the door behind her. "You are my dearest friend! If something s bothering you…"

"_You_ bother me!" Meg pointed at Christine accusingly, finally letting her true feelings pour out, after having locked them away for so long. "Perfect Christine, beautiful Christine, talented Christine! And still, everyone sympathizes for her! As if she's the only one who has ever lost a father!" Meg screamed, storming off to the other side of the small room.

"Meg, please." Christine repeated, crying desperately now, and approached the former ballerina. "You were always like a sister to me. I love you!"

"Yes of course!" Meg scoffed. "You always love someone when it's convenient to you."

Christine paused, drawn aback. "You don't mean that."

"Don't I?!" Meg didn't really mean it, and she realized that as Christine bowed her head and turned to leave. She hadn't meant to bring fathers into this, knowing how Christine still suffered over her father's death. She most certainly hadn't meant to accuse Christine of using her husband. "Wait." she sighed, trying hard to let go of her anger.

Christine stopped, turning back to Meg, sniffling. Meg sat on her bed, gesturing for Christine to join her. They sat side by side, as they so often had as children, and simply stared out ahead of them.

"I'm sorry." Christine said finally, breaking the silence. "I know… I know I've hurt a lot of people. But I never meant to." She wiped away her tears, staring down at the floor. "I never asked for people to sympathize with me, or for them to love me. All I wanted was my father back. I never meant…"

"It's okay." Meg said, sighing. It was true, after all. Christine hadn't asked to be showered with such affection. She didn't know how to handle other's emotions. She was just a weak-willed little girl who missed her Papa. "I'm sorry too."

Christine smiled through her tears. Meg returned the smile half-heartedly, a twinge of jealousy still running through her. "What is it?" Christine asked, noticing how her friend remained bothered.

"It's nothing, I just…" Just what? What had prompted this insensitive tirade on her part anyway? It was so unlike her. Oh yes, Erik had. She had realized she loved Erik, only to realize right after that he would never love her. He couldn't even seem to get along with her for more than a few minutes.

"Just what?" Christine pressed, not unkindly.

"I…" Meg sighed. She doubted Christine could answer her question, but she lost nothing by asking. "Why can't people get along and love each other?"

She was certain Christine would say she didn't know. Instead, she laughed.

She _laughed_.

"What's funny?" Meg asked, irritated by Christine's sudden mirth.

"You think getting along is the same as loving?" Christine patted Meg's head patronizingly. "Oh, little Meg. For once, between the two of us, _you're_ the naïve one!"

"What?" Meg shrugged off Christine's hand, hearing a musical chord strike up. _Oh no…_

"Being married, I soon learned…" Christine began, standing, _"The more you love someone, the more you want to kill them." _Meg stared in utter confusion as Christine began to prance around the room, singing. "_The more you love someone, the more he makes you cry! And though you try to make peace with them, and love them." _Christine brandished a picture of Raoul from seemingly nowhere, stroking it lovingly. _"That's why you love so hard you'd like to make them DIE!" _She suddenly crushed the picture, throwing it to the floor, and stomping on it.

"Uh… Christine?" Meg lifted her feet up on the bed, becoming uneasy with Christine's strange display. Christine approached Meg sweetly, continuing to explain.

"The more you love someone, the more he drives you crazy. The more you love someone, the more you wish he was dead!" She brandished another picture of Raoul and glared at it. _"Sometimes you look at him, and only see foppy and lazy! And wish for a baseball bat to hit him on the head!"_ Christine popped the picture into her mouth, chewing it furiously, before spitting it out on the floor and stomping on it as well.

Meg stood, preparing to make a run for the door, but Christine turned and took her hands, smiling wistfully.

_"Love…"_ Christine sang, once again seeming calm and beautiful.

_"Love…"_ echoed Meg, relaxed by Christine's cooler demeanor.

_"And hate."_ Christine sang, dancing around with Meg's hands in hers.

_"And hate."_ Meg repeated, starting to smile.

_"They're like two brothers…"_ Christine sang melodiously.

_"Brothers…"_ Meg resounded.

_"That go on a date." _Christine said, moving away from Meg and towards a window.

_"That…"_ Meg stopped, unsure if she had heard correctly. "Wait, what?"

Christine whirled around to face Meg, explaining. _"Where one of them goes, the other one follows. You invited love! But he brought along sorrow."_

"Ah, yes." Meg nodded, understanding now.

_"The more you love someone, the more you want to kill him!"_ Christine sang ecstatically, brandishing yet another picture of Raoul and tearing it up. Meg harmonized under her. _"Loving and killing fit like hand in glove!"_

_"Like hand in glove!" _Meg sang, watching as Christine proceeded to stomp on her remaining pictures, and then walked over to Meg.

_"So if you find someone who makes you want to kill him…" _Christine lowered her voice tenderly, brushing a band out of Meg's face maternally, _"…you go and find him…"_

"Yes." Meg nodded once, determined.

_"…and you get him."_ Christine said softly.

"Right!" Meg pulled out a club and held it up proudly.

_"…and you DON'T kill him…"_ Christine added quickly, snatching the club out of Meg's hands. _"…cause chances are…"_

_"He… is… your/my… love…" _Christine and Meg sang together, harmonizing beautifully, and finished the song, hugging each other.

"Oh, Meg! My sister not by blood!" Christine cried.

"We haven't harmonized like that since _Angel of Music_!" Meg said, getting a bit teary-eyed herself.

"Yeah, that was kind of weird." Christine said as they pulled away, recalling the memory. "We sure did break into song randomly a lot back then."

"What do you mean _back then_?" Meg retorted, quirking an eyebrow.

The two stared at each other for a moment, and then burst into laughter.

"Go." Christine said, trying to stifle her remaining giggles. "Find the man you love, whoever he may be."

"What about you?" Meg asked, reluctant to leave Christine after they had finally reconnected.

"I'll be fine. I'll just stay here and clean up the mess." Christine gestured to the various scattered and stomped on pictures of Raoul littering the floor.

"Oh. Right." Meg agreed, not quite sure where they had all come from. "Where is he, anyway?"

"Oh, I don't know." Christine said dismissively. "He went to go report a kidnapping or something. He's such a silly man."

Meg didn't ask, worried that she might strike up another musical number. "Well then, I better get going!" And with that, Meg turned and, stopping to say a quick goodbye to her mother, ran to find the man she loved. She wondered, briefly, what Christine would think if she knew who it was Meg wanted to kill.

She made her way back to the lair. The main room was empty when she arrived, but she could hear voices coming from the sitting room.

Meg peeked into the room and found both Eriks; busying themselves with building… _something_. Meg couldn't tell what. But she was filled with an incredibly warm feeling as she watched Little Erik pretend to pick up a glass of water to drink, but instead splashed it on his father. Erik pretended to scowl, though he could hardly contain his laughter, and grabbed the boy by the foot, holding him upside down. Little Erik struggled in the air, finally surrendering. It was so endearing, watching the two of them get along so well. Most of all, Meg didn't think she had ever seen Erik so happy.

She watched as Erik dropped Little Erik, who scrambled to his feet in embarrassment. He caught sight of Meg, and ran towards her. "Meg! You're back!" he hugged her thighs, for that was about as high as he could reach.

"Yes." Meg looked up at Erik, who had his back turned to her, busy picking up the tools they had scattered on the floor.

"Oh, Papa's been teaching me how to build!" Little Erik told her enthusiastically. "Let me show you what we made earlier!" He ran out of the room to fetch his creation.

Meg ventured into the room shyly, watching as Erik placed the tools on a table, and turned to her.

"So…" he said, his expression unreadable, "how was Madame Gi—?"

Before Erik could even finish his sentence, Meg rushed forward, gripped his lapels, and pressed her lips against his.

And Erik did not pull away.

* * *

**Next Time...**

**Jayden: **Okay, here's the plan. I go in there and get your mom and Misty, and kidnap them!

**Ann: **...that's it?

**Jayden: **You stay here and guard our flag! Here's a machine gun. (Hands Ann a machine gun) If you need me, contact me through this. (Gives her a cup on a string) I'm going in!

**Ann: **I thought he was the clever type!

**Jayden: **I am! I just like to play spy. Hurray for annoying espionage! (Runs off humming the mission impossible tune)

**Meanwhile...**

**Meg: **So, uh... about that kiss...

**Erik: **Will you shut up? I'm trying to kiss you here! Damn women and their jabber.

**Little Erik: **What they don't know, is that I've been watchign them this whole time. I'm just waiting for them to get all "into it", so I can interrupt! Hurray for annoying kids!

**Meanwhile...**

**Efrian: **This is still stupid.

**Anis: **Yeah, but now we have... AN ORGAN!

**Efrian: **Why do we have an organ?

**Anis: **All serious bad guys need an organ!

**Efrian: **You know what? I don't even care...

**Anis: **Hurray for annoying villains!

**Tune in next time!**


End file.
